Instincts
by Sweet Anonymity
Summary: Tony's facing something he can't handle alone. It's a good thing he's got Ducky, McGee, Ziva, Abby, and Gibbs behind him-even if they're still struggling to figure this thing out, too. ::Crossover with The Sentinel::  Gen
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

******o o o**

One second he was crouching to retrieve evidence from the pavement, the next second…he was still there. That was the point: it was just a _second_. McGee didn't have to sound so exasperated.

"Tony, you might want to snap out of it before Gibbs finds you daydreaming down there."

Tony blinked, then frowned. His eyes felt dry, and he was staring at the shattered glass from the victim's car window. Come to think of it, the way it sparkled in the sun _was_ oddly mesmerizing. Rather a pathetic thing to have noticed, but hey, how much intelligence could you expect from someone who'd gotten a measly three hours of sleep? Tony suspected Gibbs got a sort of evil enjoyment out of waking his agents up early to go to crime scenes.

"Tony, what's your problem today?"

McGee again, sounding even more irritated.

Tony stood quickly, then winced when his knees and back protested. "Ouch."

"Well, you've only been hunched down there for the last five minutes."

"Five minutes?" Hardly.

"Yeah, Tony, five minutes." He glanced at his watch. "Over five minutes, actually."

"Not one of your most subtle ways of avoiding work, if you ask me," Ziva commented breezily, as she strode up behind McGee.

"Ah, c'mon guys, since when have I done that?" Tony protested, annoyed when it came out sounding petulant and in need of affirmation. It _was_ unfair though; he pulled his weight. Maybe he didn't always appear particularly serious about it, but still…

McGee and Ziva exchanged glances, but didn't argue any further to the contrary.

"Team bonding later. Report now."

You didn't ever quite get used to Gibbs' abrupt appearances, but you did learn to keep from visibly jumping—at least most of the time—if only to preserve a few shreds of dignity.

"I have just finished photographing the scene," Ziva replied first, with equanimity.

"Yeah, Boss, I'm done too," McGee seconded. "Got the blood samples and hair strands for Abby."

Gibbs nodded. "DiNozzo?"

"Oh…uh, yeah, Boss." Man. He was stuttering like McGee. And the geek even had the nerve to look smug about the role reversal. Tony cleared his throat, and automatically found himself displaying the evidence bag he was holding. "Got this."

That was when he realized he'd never actually put anything _in_ the evidence bag.

"It looks like…_nothing_," Ziva commented, peering at it studiously.

"It is rather insubstantial," McGee concurred sagely.

Gibbs scowled, but didn't directly reprimand Tony. "You three get your acts together. Let's go."

Ziva and McGee gave Tony dark looks.

"Way to go, DiNozzo," McGee rhymed, stressing each syllable of his name. "As if the day wasn't already shaping up to be a pleasant one."

"Some people will do anything for attention, even when it is negative. Or so I have heard." Ziva smiled benignly.

"I did _not_ do that for attention." Being a glutton for negative attention was one thing, but purposefully bringing down the wrath of Gibbs on your own head was another.

"Come on, move out!"

Gibbs voice moved them into action, but Tony found himself trailing uncertainly behind his teammates. He was feeling more bewildered than he cared to let on. Five minutes? It couldn't have been that long. And yet, his memory grew fuzzy after his initial arrival at the crime scene.

The truth was, he didn't want consider the idea that he might have spaced out. He might have gone blank on his team at a much more crucial moment. He might've gotten someone killed.

What really scared him, though, was that it wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

**o o o**

When Tony, with uncharacteristic sobriety, had asked to speak with him privately, Gibbs hadn't been surprised. He'd known something had been eating at his agent for several days. Gibbs was a little surprised, but not overly so, when DiNozzo began the conversation with, "I think I might have to resign, Boss." When DiNozzo couldn't _hide_ the fact that something was eating at him, something bad was brewing. Exactly what that something was, he would know by the time they left the empty conference room they were currently using.

"I just thought I'd let you know. You know?" Tony hedged further when Gibbs gave no indication that he _did_ "know." "You know…just giving you some warning in advance."

"Sit."

"I don't expect a farewell party, or anything. I mean, I don't need one to _know_ you guys'll miss me."

Gibbs stared, hard. Tony sat.

"Better." Gibbs paced, eyes never leaving off in their scrutiny of the younger agent. "You want to tell me what this is about?"

"Well you see, Boss, Ziva insulted my tie the other day, and McGee agreed. Today it was my shoes. I don't think I my fragile ego can take much more of this hostile work environment."

"Stop babbling, DiNozzo."

"Right, Boss."

"That long pause was me waiting for you to say something that makes sense."

Tony's smile was looking a bit worn around the edges. "Sense?"

"Save the act. Why do you _think_ you might have to resign?"

"I just don't want to get anyone killed, that's all," Tony explained nonchalantly.

Gibbs waited. Tony had seen enough Gibbs-style interrogations to recognize his tactics for making his subjects of examination squirm, but they still seemed effective enough on him. Patience had always been Gibbs' best and favorite ally, and he was content to watch the other man avoid direct eye contact for while

"Look, Gibbs, I've been messing up on the job."

"Yeah, you have been," Gibbs agreed, without accusation. "What I want to know is why."

"Too many years in one place? Stress of the job?" Tony shrugged. "I think it's just getting to me."

"You really expect me to believe that?"

Tony managed to meet his gaze evenly for a moment, as if by doing so he thought he was proving his sincerity. But Gibbs saw him waver, and Tony saw that Gibbs saw. DiNozzo looked away with a sigh.

If Tony had been delusional enough to think, even for a minute, that he could pull the wool over _his_ eyes, Gibbs knew something out of the ordinary had to be distracting him.

"Spill it. That's an order." He held up a finger in warning before Tony could open his mouth with some quip about resigning on the spot, and no longer being under his jurisdiction. "I'm not in a mood to humor you, DiNozzo."

It was his no-second-chances tone, and Tony knew it. He seemed to respond to it despite himself, as if still debating whether he should say anything, but reacting automatically to the command more out of habit than conscious decision. God knew he didn't look willing, but he _was_ talking, which was all Gibbs expected.

"Yeah, Boss, yeah... You want to know the truth? I'm no good out in the field anymore. I'm a liability."

Gibbs silence was an unvoiced "continue." It had been known to convince Abby to pour her heart out. It made Tony sigh again, but he obeyed nonetheless.

"I'm distracted. I can't focus sometimes, and other times it's like…"

"Like what?"

"It's crazy, Boss."

Gibbs gave him a raised eyebrow and a just-try-me expression. They all worked with "crazy" every day. Whatever Tony had to say, it could hardly be much more shocking than what they dealt with. He was being delusional, again, and naive, if he thought so. Of course, Gibbs did know it was more than that. While he said "it's" crazy, what Gibbs saw in his posture—and had caught a glimpse of in hastily averted green eyes—was a fear that Gibbs would think that _Tony_ was crazy.

Tony seemed resigned now, however, as he wearily dismissed whatever inhibitions he'd had. "I've always had good eyesight, but lately it's been ten times better—a hundred times better." He snorted, ruefully. "And smells, too…they're bothering me like they never have before. Don't even get me started on hearing. I keep getting these terrible headaches. It's like I'm on overload, and it's setting me on edge. If someone surprises me I'm likely to snap their neck. The _not_ being able to focus thing isn't any better. The other day, at the crime scene, I just…"

"Zoned out," Gibbs supplied.

"Yeah. Good name for it. I just got there, started examining the shattered glass, and the next thing I knew McGee was on my case for wasting five minutes. I swear, Boss, I don't have a clue what's happening, but it's something weird, and it's scaring the—"

"I know."

"You…do?"

"I'm not paid to be oblivious, DiNozzo. This isn't the first time it's happened, either."

Tony relaxed a little, responding to Gibbs' unperturbed and matter-of-fact reaction. "You remember that? It was years ago."

"You froze up and nearly got yourself killed." Fortunately, Tony's vacant stare had creeped out the guy with his gun aimed at them as much as it had Gibbs.

"I always wondered why you didn't fire me right then and there," Tony mused with a frown.

"You were at your best during that undercover operation." _Other than that one, near-fatal incident, that is… _Gibbs had never seen him quite so driven. Unforeseen disaster after disaster had seemed determined to ruin their mission, but they'd survived. Tony had seen things from impossible distances, and heard things coming long before they arrived. There'd never been a good opportunity to question him about it at the time. Gibbs had accepted the edge Tony's sudden abilities had given them, and used them to stay alive and accomplish their goal. And afterwards…well, Ducky never would've forgiven him for interrogating Tony in the hospital. And they'd _both_ spent far too much time at Bathesda after that run, Tony in varying states of consciousness.

"Those weeks are a blur," Tony said softly. "Afterwards, I hardly thought half of it'd really happened." And he'd probably been too grateful for Gibbs lack of questions to ask Gibbs any himself. "But now it's happening again. I'm not the desk-job type—but I won't be a risk to the team, either."

"You won't be."

"I can't be out in the field if I keep…zoning."

"We're pretty good at solving things around here," Gibbs pointed out mildly.

"Yeah, but I don't know where to begin looking for ideas, and, no offence, but Google's not your strong suit."

Gibbs smiled faintly, exasperated and amused at once. "What about McGee? Abby? Ducky's been known to be fairly insightful in the medical field." _You ever stop to think how far some of us might go to help you? To keep you from leaving? _

Tony didn't look quite as if the idea had never occurred to him, but if it had he'd never taken the thought too seriously. "I don't know, Boss…

_Yeah, well I do. _"We'll figure this out. Keep the resume."

"Keep it handy, you mean?"

That really deserved a whap across the head, but Gibbs was already on his way out. He settled for a warning look. "There's plenty of paperwork to do in the meantime, DiNozzo."

**o o o**

**TBC**

A/N: I wrote this a while ago-just working on the editing-so I should be able to post regularly. I've only written a few short Sentinel pieces, and never written NCIS before, so I would really, really, appareciate any feedback from readers/authors with more expirience than I. Though I don't usually go back and edit fanfiction I've already posted (of course there are those mistakes that simply have to be seen too... *cringes at self*), it would be helpul to get feedback on what I did or did not do right with characterizations so I can write 'em better in the future. ;)

Let me know your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**ooo**

Gibbs had a routine for entering the office. Pausing before coming into view was the perfect way to get a brief preview of what his agents were up to. It wasn't unusual for that preview to be amusing, and involving yet another stunt of DiNozzo's that he would never have pulled if he knew his boss was just around the corner. Gibbs waited just long enough to get the gist of the conversation. It wasn't as if he chose, purposefully, to stride in just at the exact moment when his unexpected arrival would cause a general fluster. He just had good timing. But he had to admit, seeing the three of them jump and scramble was the perfect way to start out most days.

"…freaky."

The first word, spoken by McGee, caused Gibbs to raise an eyebrow. Ziva spoke next.

"It does not look…natural. I think maybe we should do something?"

"Like what?" McGee, again. "He's not responding to anything I say. If _you_ want to try socking him…"

Gibbs decided that was his cue to enter. He had a good guess what the "freaky" problem was.

"Uh…Tony? Snap out of it. You can come back to the land of the living any time now…"

McGee was just snapping his fingers in Tony's face. Gibbs could hear the edge of concern beneath the sarcasm, but the junior agent still received a glare, and a, "Back off, McGee." Harsh, probably, but it seemed instinctive—reflexive—and right then his focus was on DiNozzo. He planned on letting the rest of the team in on their problem, but they didn't know now, and Gibbs knew Tony wouldn't appreciate either of them seeing him like this, even with an explanation. He undoubtedly wouldn't appreciate Gibbs seeing him like this either, but that couldn't be helped.

The other agent was looked abnormally vulnerable, staring off into space, head titled slightly to one side. Gibbs blocked Ziva's view by standing directly in her line of sight; McGee had suddenly become single-mindedly absorbed in something on his computer.

Now that he'd secured the right to deal with the problem, Gibbs wasn't entirely sure how to go about it. It was apparent from McGee's actions that Tony had thus far been unresponsive to any verbal attempts to rouse him. Gibbs tried anyway.

"DiNozzo."

No response.

Automatically, Gibbs raised a hand to mete out a gentle swat. Instead, he ended up squeezing Tony's shoulder. He hadn't expected the response to be quite so immediate.

Tony blinked, winced, blinked more specifically at Gibbs, and his wince deepened. In a voice too low for McGee or Ziva to hear, he murmured sheepishly, "Did it again, huh?"

Gibbs nodded, once.

Tony was as good at reading Gibbs, and he interpreted his set expression now.

"Uh, Boss, I don't really think that's necessary… Ducky's already given me a clean bill of health. I just need some Tylenol for the headache."

Gibbs guessed that the grin Tony gave him was supposed to look indomitable and cheerful. He couldn't be sure, because it failed to do anything but look thin. Gibbs ignored his objections, and addressed the rest of the team.

"Ziva, wrap up, and meet us in ten, down in autopsy. McGee, get Abby, and do the same. DiNozzo—with me."

Tony looked like he wanted to argue, but rose instead.

"Right, Boss."

**ooo**

"I don't know what to tell you, Jethro." Ducky sighed. "I cannot find anything physically wrong with him. Save for a headache, it would seem he's in perfect health."

The MD had run all the tests he had the resources to do in-house. Gibbs hadn't been pleased with the required waiting time for results, and he wasn't too happy with the results now that he'd gotten them. He didn't want anything to be wrong with Tony, obviously, but there _was _something wrong, lack of positive results notwithstanding. He knew Tony wanted a name to put on the problem as much as he did.

The rest of the team had yet to arrive, a fact for which Gibbs knew Tony was grateful. If he were in his agent's place, he knew he'd be wishing he could find a way to fix things quickly, and privately, with as little broadcasting and fuss being made as possible.

Tony smiled at Ducky's pronouncement, and enthusiastically slid off the metal table. He motioned broadly, palms up, in a ta-da gesture. "See? Perfect health."

Gibbs let Tony have his moment of triumph unopposed, but continued to press Ducky. "Any ideas? Theories?"

Ducky frowned in consideration. "It sounds almost as if he could be suffering from petit mal—or absence seizures. But too many pieces don't quite fit. For one thing, sufferers are primarily younger, usually children between six and twelve years old. For another, these episodes have been lasting for minutes at time, am I correct?"

"Over five minutes, once," Gibbs confirmed.

Reluctantly, Tony added, "And I've had longer ones than that before."

The doctor nodded. "That doesn't fit at all. In atypical cases absence seizures can last for a minute or so, but they're usually only a matter of seconds. There are other things that don't fit, either. These experiences you've been having with heightened sensory perception, they seem directly connected these temporarily lapses in awareness. But _how_, I don't know. I wish I could be of more help, but this is all rather out of my range of expertise. Perhaps you should see a neurologist?"

"No way," Tony protested quickly. "I trust you, Ducky. If you say I have perfect health…"

"He might do that, Ducky," Gibbs interrupted, with a look that dared Tony to contradict him. He knew the last thing DiNozzo wanted was to pour out his problems to a total stranger; the fact that he'd been prepared to quit without explaining it to any of his team was proof of that. But Gibbs had meant it when he said they were going to solve this, and that meant doing whatever it took. Even dragging Tony kicking and screaming to see ten neurologists if need be.

Further discussion was interrupted by the arrival of Abby, McGee, and Ziva.

"Tony, are you _okay_?" Abby was at Tony's side in an instant, in full hovering mothering hen mode. "McGee says you did that…thing again."

"Yeah, I did that…_thing_, again. But I'm fine now," Tony insisted, façade in full slipshod condition. "Just a headache."

"What were you doing?" Abby's concern was merging with exasperation. "I told you you shouldn't try and experiment around with—" Something in Tony's expression gave her the hint and made her pause. Gibbs saw her follow Tony's line of sight to McGee and Ziva, who remained in the background wearing nonplused expressions. Abby immediately changed her line of scolding. "You haven't told them, Tony?" She whacked his forearm, albeit more gently than she might have under other conditions. "They deserve to know. Besides, you need _keepers_."

Tony gave one of his classic snorts of derision that said "yeah right" as clear as anything.

Abby narrowed her eyes at him. "Well you do need help, Anthony DiNozzo, whether you admit it or not."

"Abby," Tony's voice was low for warning effect as much as to keep what he was saying from being heard by everyone in the room. "I did tell you about this in confidence, you know…"

"Gibbs," Abby half appealed, half demanded of him. "Can I tell them?"

Gibbs met Tony's look of betrayal evenly. _This has got to come out sooner or later, DiNozzo. _Tony's expression fell in resignation, and he gave a nearly imperceptible nod of permission.

"Shoot, Abbs." Despite the situation, Gibbs found himself smiling. He'd been wondering how he was going to explain—now he didn't have to find out.

"Tell us what?" McGee finally hazarded. He looked between Abby and Gibbs in confusion. "Do you guys know something that Ziva and I don't about this freaky stuff with Tony?"

Abby turned abruptly on McGee, looking ready to do much more than admonish him with a swat.

McGee's eyes widened. "What? What did I say?"

"Don't you _ever_ use the word _freak_ in connection with Tony, McGee."

"Well I actually said 'freaky', not 'freak'," McGee backpedaled.

"Tony is experiencing some unusual things. That does not make him some unnatural anomaly to be gawked at or treated differently."

Tony himself, Gibbs noted, was rolling his eyes and looking ready to remind the rest of them that he _was_ right there listening. Ducky looked concerned, and Ziva both perturbed, and impatient.

As much as he enjoyed watching Abby on the rampage, especially on behalf of a worthy cause, Gibbs decided the conversation could use a little guidance. "Maybe you should get back to the explanation, Abby."

"Right—right," Abby agreed with a last stern look at McGee. "It's not just the zoning out stuff, guys, it's way bigger."

"Boy, it sounds so much better when you downplay it like that," Tony muttered.

Ducky decided to step in with a little clarification. "What Abby is trying to say, here, is that Anthony has been experiencing some heightened sensory perception. Very heightened, from the sound of it."

Ziva spoke for the first time, testing the words, as if uncertain she'd understood. "Sensory perception?"

"Yes, my dear." Ducky elaborated, "Sight, hearing, taste…"

"Oh, you didn't mention taste to me," Abby interrupted, looking at Tony.

Tony had been looking more and more uncomfortable during the conversation. Gibbs could sympathize. He must've felt something like a lab rat being discussed like this. But uncomfortable or not, he apparently couldn't say no to Abby's enthusiasm.

"I thought it was just the rest. _That,_ I could've handled." Plenty of sarcasm, there. "But today it looks like touch decided it didn't want to be left out of the fun." Tony's uncharacteristic somberness, which was beginning to list towards wryly born misery, finally seemed to register on his audience. "It looks like all five of 'em are going super sensitive. Lucky me." He'd been absently scratching at his right arm, and now switched over to the left.

Gibbs didn't even get the chance to pry. Trust Abby to boldly do what no one else dared to do. Gently, but firmly, she unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve and rolled it back in one smooth gesture. She authoritatively ignored his "ouch", but then immediately gave a small gasp and quick, "Oh gee, Tony, I'm sorry…"

Gibbs had to wince in sympathy when he saw the long swath of irritated red skin that covered his forearm and…well, most of his arm, period. He'd have been willing to hazard a guess on the state of his other arm.

Tony looked surprised too. "Wow."

"Anthony," Ducky admonished. "You should have said something about this before."

"I didn't realize before…" Tony touched the angry-looking skin gingerly. "Wow."

"That's it, Mister, you're coming with me." When Tony began to protest, Abby appealed to Gibbs again, this time simply utilizing a pleading look.

"DiNozzo, go with Abby."

She tugged, this time with extreme caution, on his hand, and Tony resigned himself to her lead. They could all hear Abby's voice chattering off ideas as the two of them left—Gibbs thought he heard something about hydrocortisone and switching detergent.

Gibbs motioned to his remaining agents with one finger. "Ziva, McGee. We need to talk."

**ooo**

Usually, Gibbs found the familiar, monotonous job of working on his boat soothing. It still was, but it currently only served as a shallow distraction. He couldn't still his mind, or put aside the uneasy feeling in his gut. He didn't usually ignore that feeling—it had served him well before—but he was running out of excuses to pay attention to it.

Tony hadn't been being exactly resistant to his team's attention, but it was obvious he thought they were being paranoid. Ziva's offer to Tony of a ride home hadn't gone over well at all. That, of course, could be chalked up to Ziva's skill, or lack thereof, behind the wheel. No one, however, had made a second offer.

That left Gibbs with a bad feeling, and no plausible reason he could think of to do anything about it.

He was just considering going to bed when his cell phone rang. He set his tools down quickly, answering before the second ring. "Gibbs." He received no reply. The sounds on the other end were static and indistinct, but Gibbs could hear what sounded like rain and cars going by. Whoever it was, was either close to a door or window, or out in the mess that currently was Washington DC's weather.

"Who is this?"

"Boss?"

Tony's voice sounded hoarse and uncertain, as if he wasn't actually responding to Gibbs' queries, or hearing him at all.

"DiNozzo." When a reply was absent, he tried again. "_Tony_…"

"Sorry, Boss…" Tony simultaneously slurred, and grit out. "Was jus gonna have a couple drinks, dunno what happened. Thought was just one…"

From the sound of it, the last thing Tony needed right now for Gibbs to indulge in a few loud expletives, so he kept them un-broadcasted. It didn't sound so much like Tony was drunk, as shivering. Yup, definitely outside.

"C'use a lil' help…"

_Ya think? _"Where are you?" Gibbs demanded. On the other end, he could hear Tony moan. More quietly, but with the same level of urgency Gibbs tried again: "Tell me where you are." _Come on… _What he heard in response sounded suspiciously like the cell phone hitting pavement.

His was in his car and on the way in a minute, cell phone still pressed to his ear, willing Tony to obey his intermittent demands for an answer. He considered calling Abby, and getting her to trace the GPS chip in Tony's phone, but then he realized he had a pretty good idea where Tony was. He headed towards the bars nearest the Navy Yard, knowing from past experience that Tunnicliffs was his most likely candidate.

It took him a moment to register the honking of the car behind him, as he slowed in front of the pub. With a jerk, he pulled over into a prime parking space, apparently too small for anyone else to have attempted to maneuver into. He made it work.

Gibbs didn't generally consider himself the imaginative type, but right now his mind was busy going in circles, constructing possibilities. _And if all of this just ends up being about you getting yourself too drunk to walk a straight line or call a cab, you're going to regret it, DiNozzo. _If he was honest with himself (which he wasn't exactly being, at the moment), he was hoping it _would_ turn out to be so simple a problem. He might not be particularly happy with the other man if his trouble was of the careless and self-inflicted variety, but Tony would survive a hangover—and maybe even the concussion Gibbs would likely give him afterwards.

The rain outside wasn't so much pelting as steady, and accompanied by the occasional streak of lightening and crash of thunder. Gibbs felt instantly chilled upon exiting his car as a gust batted at him, the rain causing a pin-prick sensation across his skin. Pocketing his cell, he scanned the sidewalk, but in this weather nearly everyone was either inside, or hurrying along, head down against the elements. No DiNozzo in sight.

There was an alley in front of him, and another further to his left, past Tunnicliffs. When his search of the first proved fruitless, he strode quickly past the neon glow of the beer signs that lit up the front of the tavern, and tried the second alley.

It had been a gamble to assume Tony would be so close by—or at this bar, even if it was one frequented by the team—but he was, thankfully, correct. He found his missing agent sitting, knees drawn up and body hunched forward, in a miserable huddle against the brick wall of the building.

The noise of the wind and rain forced him to raise his voice to be heard as he crouched in front of Tony. "_DiNozzo_." Gibbs had expected Tony to look up, respond in relief… Instead, his hands, which had already been clapped over his ears, tightened in their position. If anything he seemed to be trying to ignore the new intrusion. When Gibbs impulsively reached out a hand to touch one of Tony's knees, Tony jerked back and made a small noise of surprise. Or pain?

Now Gibbs felt truly useless. He needed Ducky. Abby. _Anyone_. Knowing when to encourage Tony with a swat to the head, or an "atta' boy", were far cries from knowing what to do with…this. Whatever this was. He considered calling an ambulance, but something told him that would be a very, _very_ bad idea at the moment. Flashing lights, prodding and poking, questions neither of them had the answers to, and a hospital full of unfamiliar smells. Nope. Whatever was happening to Tony, none of that was going to help.

But he had to get Tony's attention somehow. He did _not_ want a repeat of Tony's pained reaction to his touch, but that pretty much left talking, which hadn't worked so well either. Well, if Tony's hearing was hypersensitive, maybe a whisper was all it would take, even if Gibbs couldn't hear his _own_ voice.

"Tony, I need you to listen to me." Gibbs found himself slipping into the reassuring, gently authoritative tone he used with scared kids. He'd always thought he did pretty well with kids, and right now DiNozzo wasn't in command of himself enough to resent it if Gibbs sounded like he was treating him like a ten-year-old. As a matter of fact, Gibbs thought he saw Tony's hands loosen, just a fraction. Encouraged, he continued, "I don't know what you're going through..." And he didn't have the faintest idea how saying that would help. He just knew he had to keep up a flow of words, because it was the only thing he could think of _to_ do. "You listening to me, DiNozzo? Because I didn't come out in this downpour just watch you sit in the mud." This time, he was certain he saw Tony's hands loosen. His head seemed to raise a fraction in Gibbs' direction, too.

Before he could resume, a peal of thunder boomed. Tony cried out in unmistakable pain, and the hands covering ears jerked, tensing along with the rest of his body. Gibbs clenched his jaw, feeling ridiculously angry at weather, with its bad timing, and not caring that it was irrational. If all Tony's senses were as keyed up as his hearing obviously was, then the rain had to feel like honest-to-God, non-analogical pins and needles.

Now thinking from Tony's perspective, he noticed other things too. Cars going by, honking, or with their radios turned up loud enough that the beat could be heard a block away. The door to the bar opening for the admittance and departure of its patrons. The inebriated laughter of those leaving, along with subsequent opening and closing of car doors. And, of course, _thunder_, as Gibbs had just been made well aware of. Even the soft patter of raindrops might be contributing to the general wealth of things that could have triggered a reaction, and be overwhelming him. And that was just hearing. Gibbs surmised that Tony had sought out the alleyway as a refuge from the street lights and noises, but even here it was obviously still affecting him badly. Gibbs also became aware of the smell of trash from a nearby dumpster: irritating for him, but probably much, much worse for Tony.

Lightning flashed. Tony cringed.

"God, DiNozzo…" Gibbs sighed in a not-quite-whisper. It came close to being a prayer. He didn't want to consider the possibility that there was no way bring to Tony's senses back down. "You really do have all the luck, you know that?" _A sarcastic come-back, a retort—I'll take either, any time now. _"C'mon, just…listen to me. Try and block out everything else. Focus on me, alright? Got it? Good. That thunder's probably going to come any minute, and try to break your eardrums. Just ignore it. None of that matters—you're focusing. Those cars going by? That's normal city noise, DiNozzo, and you know it. It's nothing new, so let it go. That's all in the background."

"Boss?"

For a minute, Gibbs had gotten lost in his own endeavors to keep up a continuous rhythm of talking. He started, and found Tony regarding him with some confusion, eyes only opened a slit.

"Yeah," Gibbs confirmed, voice strained from the effort of keeping it cautiously low. "It's me. How's the hearing?"

"Better."

Gibbs wanted to be reassured. However, given Tony's record for downplaying his injuries, at least _serious _ones, he made of habit of distrusting DiNozzo's self-diagnoses. A silence lapsed, and Tony's eyes began to drift shut again. "Hey. Stay with me, here." Obediently, Tony's eyes remained squinted open, though barely. "We're going to get out of this rain, all right?" The task of actually getting Tony up and moving looked just short of impossible. However, the rain was a constant, icy reminder of why the impossible was growing increasingly necessary to achieve."You ready to move, DiNozzo?"

"M'fine."

He'd already decided DiNozzo opinion was moot when it came to his own health, so _why_ was he asking? Experimentally, Gibbs reached out to lightly rest a hand on Tony's knee. It didn't seem to hurt him this time. Still, just to be safe: "That hurt you?" Tony responded with a slight shake of his head. "Good. Hold on a minute." He took a few seconds to hesitate mentally over a plan of action, but was sure to sound confident when he finally presented it. "All right. Now… We're going to get up when I say so. Keep your eyes closed if you have to. I'll make sure neither of us walks into any walls."

"'K Boss…m'ready."

Carefully taking one of Tony's arms, Gibbs wrapped it around his neck. _Time for another one of your "miracles," kid. Loyal as a St. Bernard_… "Let's get out of here, DiNozzo."

**ooo**

**TBC**

A/N: Sorry I failed to mention it right of the bat, guys: just to clarify, this story is not slash, and won't be turning into it later_. _Couldn't find any NCIS/TS stories that weren't, and I was craving one, so that's a large part of why I wrote this.

But wow. You guys just overwhelmed me with all the wonderful feedback—thank you! Thanks specifically to the reviewers I couldn't respond to: _AIMAS_,_ Kelly, Bobbie_, and _lulu_. Be sure to sign in/leave me an address if you'd like a response (I'm very happy to). ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

******ooo**

Tony was really beginning to hope the vague memories darting through his mind were actually just fragments of an extremely weird, nightmarish dream. The throbbing in his skull wasn't conducive to thought, or encouraging his attempts to persuade himself, however.

He remembered having the idiotic notion to stop for a quick drink on his way home. He remembered going into the pub, and he definitely remembered the sick feeling that had come over him after a few minutes in the suddenly too-small interior of the pub, with its deficient lighting and over-abundance of smells. After that, it began to blur. He'd paid—more like tossed what was probably far too much money on the counter in front of the waitress—and stumbled out of Tunnicliffs, he supposed originally with the intent to return to his car. Once outside, however, he'd been struck full-force by the glare of the lights, combined with the noises, the rain, the thunder… He'd just wanted to get away from it all, at any cost. It had truly been terrifying when, even in the darkness of the alley, curled into himself, the sensation of the rain on his skin and the noise of the city had still seemed to be attacking him from every angle.

That had all been bad enough. Then, his mind taunted him with a new memory. He'd had his cell phone along—he'd fumbled for it blindly, knowing he needed help of some kind. And without thinking, he'd called Gibbs. _Your _boss, _DiNozzo? You were panicked, all but hyperventilating, and during this major crisis you called your _boss? _How pathetic is that? _What was really pathetic was that, if faced with the choice again, he knew he'd still wind up calling Gibbs.

Tony shook the thought off. Maybe that part had been his imagination. He might still be in the alley. Sketchy as his memory was, for all he knew he might've found his way back to his own place. _Well, get with the program and find out, for crying out loud…_

So he tried to. Even without opening his eyes, which he felt oddly averse to doing, he could gather that he was warm, and dry, and laying on something soft. As pleasant as that was, again, it offered little support for the nightmare theory. He'd never have had the lucidity to take such good care of himself in the state of mind he last remembered being in.

"Do sit down, Jethro. Your pacing isn't going to help anything."

That was a voice he recognized, even quiet though it was. Hearing Ducky gave him an instant sense of well-being. Of course, it sounded as if Gibbs was close by as well, and, currently, there was something about facing his boss that made Tony feel awkward. His presence pretty much answered his questions, though. Or, Gibbs being here could just be coincidence. _Give it up. It was all pure, one-hundred-percent nightmare-worthy reality. Joy._

"Ah, I do believe young Anthony has finally decided to join us."

How did doctors always know? Oh, Right, he'd just cracked his eyes open. _That_ was how he could tell… Tony smiled weakly at Ducky as the older man's face came into view over him, features dimly lit by a nearby lamp. Thankfully, the rest of the room seemed to be mercifully dark, and the small amount of light didn't unduly increase the throbbing in his skull, though his eyes took a moment to adjust.

"How are you feeling, dear boy? You've had us all well and truly concerned for you."

"Killer headache. I think I'll survive, though." The way he croaked it out, Tony doubted the assertion sounded entirely believable. He smiled more widely, though, and Ducky gave him an indulgent pat on the shoulder.

"That was rather what I figured. When Jethro brought you back here some hours ago, and called me to come have a look at you, you were hardly conscious. How much do you remember?"

Tony glanced around Ducky at Gibbs, who stood close by, observing "Uh…It's a little blurry."

"It's no wonder. You seemed to be in a great deal of pain. A very good thing Gibbs managed to find you quickly—you should be grateful for it. If he hadn't gotten you indoors and out of those sopping clothes, you might not be doing quite so well right now."

Tony examined the robe he was wearing, and felt his awkwardness rise another notch. It wasn't like he was exactly uncomfortable with idea of a friend helping him out, it was just…this was _Gibbs_. Not that he wouldn't count Gibbs as friend, or think the man wasn't willing to take care of his team, but he was still his boss, too. True, for Tony, the word "boss" didn't have the same stigma that it had for most people. But it was the opposite fact—the fact the Gibbs could often seem so invincible and was so worthy of respect—that made this whole ordeal feel strange and… awkward. Tony told himself to suck it up. It wasn't like it was the first time he'd made an idiot out of himself in front of Gibbs. It might well be the _weirdest _way he'd managed to do so, though.

"Oh good, you're awake."

Abby joined them, bright-sounding as ever, but a few decibels quieter.

As he became more aware of his surroundings, Tony noticed now that he was on a couch, one which he recognized as belonging to Gibbs' living room. Abby sat down on the edge of it, and looked about to pat Tony's shoulder in the same manner as Ducky had, but hesitated.

"You're not still hurting, are you?"

Tony wasn't quite sure at first, but a quick stock of himself revealed that he felt, more or less, normal. Achy, exhausted, more than a little freaked out by what'd happened, but currently normal. Or at least what passed for normal when you were turning into some kind of freak of nature. Just because Abby wouldn't let anyone say it didn't make it any less true.

He tried to sound cheerful for Abby. "Nah. I'm good now." As a matter of fact, he felt good enough to try sitting up.

Abby's hand on his chest forestalled the action. "Tony, you've got to take this _seriously_."

"Oh, believe me, I'm freakin' just-kill-me-now serious about this, Abbs."

Her stern expression crumpled. "It must've been terrible." A sympathetic pause. "Oh!" she rose with classic Abby abruptness. "Just a sec."

She returned a minute later with a mug in one hand, and a spoon and a package of what looked like saltines in the other.

Ducky must have seen Tony's protest coming. Geez, but his coworkers knew him too well…

"Some food might not be a bad idea, I think. Just some chicken soup, Anthony."

More succinctly, Gibbs seconded him with a forceful, "Eat."

Usually, whether he felt like it or not, Tony would have caved, and at least made a pretence of eating, but right now eating was the last thing he felt like doing. It wasn't so much the fact that eating soup at a time like this felt, well, _cliché_—like he was some traumatized kid in need of coddling. It wasn't even the fact that having three people expectantly waiting for you eat was more than a little unnerving. Food didn't just not sound good, right now it sounded terrible. The memory of his senses spiking made him want to go crawl into the darkest, least stimulating hole he could find, and stay there until the tingling feeling left his nerve-endings. He'd been telling the truth when he said he wasn't in any pain, but the memory of the pain, and the dread he felt at the thought of a repeat, was almost worse.

"Come on, Tony, just a bit…" Abby urged, resuming her seat on the edge of the couch. "Gibbs was really worried about you—we all were."

Abby's ingenuously offered concern had the ability to persuade like just about nothing else. The way Gibbs let her get away with things no one else could was a testament to her power to charm. Tony still couldn't bring himself to accept the mug.

"Maybe just the crackers?" Abby attempted to negotiate. "I was in the middle of some really interesting research, so you'd better make this trip worth my while."

"Isn't it kinda late?" Tony asked. "I know why Gibbs called Ducky, and it's not that I'm not happy to see you, but… how'd you wind up here?"

"I was there when Gibbs called—and of course I came when I heard you were in trouble. Now no more diversion tactics. Eat." She proffered the crackers.

She was sounding more like Gibbs every day. Tony took them. "Yeah, thanks Abby."

Under Abby's watchful eye, he managed to eat some. He was grateful, though, when Gibbs discretely began to disperse the party. Ducky was reluctant to go, but agreed once Gibbs promised to call him should anything happen. When Abby refused point-blank, Gibbs gave up with minimal resistance, but told her to "Quit pampering DiNozzo." Abby, of course, disregarded that, making a face, and arguing that Tony _deserved_ a little pampering after everything he'd been through. Nonetheless, she did give him some space, and not much later fell asleep in a nearby chair, feet curled up under her, body listing sideways, and head lolling on the arm.

As Gibbs draped a blanket over her, Tony recognized the faint quirk of his mouth as the fond look he so often wore when dealing with a rebellious Abby. It was still there when he acknowledged Tony with a gruff, "Get some sleep."

"Boss? I, uh…" Something was in order, but Tony wasn't sure exactly what. "I'm sorry" somehow didn't quite fit, though it probably wouldn't hurt. He knew Gibbs didn't begrudge him the help, but "thanks" also seemed somehow both insulting and lame, and not quite enough, either. He remembered Gibbs presence in the midst of the pain, his voice grounding him, breaking through the chaos.

"You called the right person, DiNozzo. Just try not to make this a habit."

Somehow, Tony knew very well he was referring to the getting in trouble part, rather than the calling someone to get him out of it. And somehow, at the moment, he didn't feel like pretending misunderstanding, either.

He smiled. "Gotcha, Boss."

**ooo**

They pursued cases, they did interrogations, they solved crimes. Gibbs barked orders, and the three of them hurried to obey. When field work was necessary, he always either subtly gave himself, McGee, or Ziva an excuse to stay at the office, or a reason for Tony to visit the morgue, or the lab. One way or another, Tony was rarely alone for long.

Although Gibbs was driven as ever in his operations, McGee noticed the slight shift of Gibbs' attention from the job, to concern for a certain member of their team. Ziva undoubtedly caught it as well. Knowing Gibbs, it wasn't hard to see, especially since the problem was first on all their minds.

They were all trying to help him, in small ways. Blander foods had slowly infiltrated the menu when anything was brought in, but Tony still did more playing with it than eating—until Gibbs noticed, or otherwise had it brought to his attention. Abby's music seemed to be blaring just a little less deafeningly these days, too. Tony undoubtedly noticed, but usually didn't comment, or even acknowledge the changes.

McGee wished he could think of some things to say to antagonize Tony into doing some of his usual hazing, which had lessened noticeably the last couple of days. "Gee, Tony, I know you're turning into a freak, but don't worry, we'll figure something out." Yeah, that would goad him, but it was too cruel-sounding even for their dysfunctional friendship. Besides, Abby would kill him if she ever heard him use that particular "f" word again in conjunction with her golden boy. "It's not so bad, Tony," "It's gotta just be temporary," and "Abby and Ducky are on it—they'll find something," were all three obvious, and sappy in a too-openly-caring way. Tony might've appreciated some of that from Gibbs, or Abby, or even Ziva, but McGee? No way.

They were all trying to act normal, Tony not least of all. But they were all failing miserably to fool each other. McGee just hoped their distraction wasn't so easily apparent to everyone outside the team. He had a feeling it was only a matter of time before Sheppard was on their case. Maybe the Director and Gibbs had already had a private face-off the rest of them were unaware of.

"McGee, lab. Now." Gibbs was, at the same time, acting brusquer than usual, but also, in minute ways, showing unusual patience. He actually elaborated at McGee's confused look, as he glanced around to find the other desk empty. Tony was often "needed" by Abby, but McGee had been too absorbed in thought and work to notice his departure if that was where he'd gone. Gibbs nodded back in the direction of the elevator. "Abby has something. Ziva's going to meet us there."

**ooo**

Peering at the computer screen, Tony was situated on a stool with Abby standing next to him. He greeted their arrival with a petulant, "Finally. She wouldn't let me see anything until you guys got here."

"_She_ doesn't want to have to repeat herself a dozen times," Abby retorted smoothly. "Ducky couldn't get away, so I'm already going to be saying it all to him again, later. As soon as Ziva gets here…"

"Sorry, I came as quickly as I could," Ziva spoke as she entered, sounding out of breath.

Gibbs nodded to Abby. "What've you got for us?"

"Well, I'm actually pretty excited about all this…" Abby socked Tony lightly in the arm when he sighed. "Not the _trouble_ you've been having, Tony. But this is cool." She gestured to the screen. "It took some searching…" No one begrudged her a little self-congratulation for success in her endeavors. "Finally, I found an article from a newspaper from a place called Cascade, in Washington state. Apparently, there was some pretty big controversy over a thesis written by an anthropologist from Rainier University. A company out of New York—a Berkshire Publishers—even offered him one hundred thousand dollars, just in advance…"

"Abby," Gibbs interrupted. "The point?"

"Right. Sorry, I told you I was excited." She cleared his throat. "The press got slipped some excerpts from the manuscript—" She held up a finger, speaking in rapid-fire. "Hold on a minute, I'm getting there. Just when everyone was getting all hyped up about this thesis being the next best-seller, the anthropologist makes an announcement in a press conference confessing that it was all a fraud."

"A fraud," Gibbs repeated. "So, let's hear what this thesis is about. I'm assuming you have a theory."

Abby smiled. "I do indeed. I don't think it was a fraud. Though, by saying so, I'm kind of associating myself with the UFO-type fanatics I found a few of, with their 'Sentinels live' websites, which actually isn't the worst thing I could think of to be associated with… "

"Sentinels?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

"Yup." Abby bit her lip. "This is where it gets kinda difficult to synopsize…" She turned to her computer, clicking a few times. "Just bear with me." She underlined a sentence with her finger as she scanned the pages contents. "Here's part of what I could find of the manuscript… According to a monograph, written over a hundred years ago by an explorer named Sir Richard Burton, in tribal cultures every village used to have what they called a Sentinel—a watchman, someone to patrol the borders. They would watch for enemies, changes in the weather, game movement—their tribes' survival was dependant on them. A Sentinel was chosen because of a genetic advantage. Their senses could be developed way beyond normal human development, and were honed primarily by time spent in the wilderness, or in difficult and primarily solitary situations." She looked up momentarily to gage there reactions. "Even though Burton's monograph is all but forgotten now, this anthropologist—a Blair Sandburg—held to the theory that there are still Sentinels alive today. Most, he thinks, only have one or two hyperactive senses, like taste or smell—people who work for coffee and perfume companies..." She looked pointedly at Tony as she said her next words, in her earnestness and enthusiasm both eyebrows raised to almost disappear under her bangs, "While others, true Sentinels, have _all five_."

"But just because some anthropologist theorized that Burton was correct doesn't mean he _was_ correct. If this Sandburg says his thesis was a fake, maybe we should believe him."

Gibbs might've been playing the devil's advocate—gullibility and optimism weren't what made Gibbs good at what he did—but McGee could sense his interest.

Abby was prepared for debate, as usual. "I think he was protecting the subject of his thesis. You see, Sentinels need someone to watch their back, to keep them from focusing too much, zoning out—"

"This manuscript talks about 'zoning'?"

"Uses the very word." Abby grinned, and resumed, "In Sandburg's now supposedly fictitious account, he himself served in this role: as a Guide for a real-live Sentinel. I couldn't find anything about how the two of them met, but Sandburg claimed that one Detective James Ellison was a Sentinel, with all five senses hyper-active."

"I do not understand. Why would Sandburg deny years of work if it _were_ true?" Ziva asked with a frown, moving closer.

"Think about it," Abby insisted. "A detective with super-powers like that…?"

"If every low-life in town was made aware of the fact, especially if he had trouble controlling it like Tony has been, he wouldn't have lasted very long," Gibbs supplied in a low voice. "Yeah, I get the picture." He sighed. "Still, you don't have any proof of any of this, so we can't assume any of it's legitimate."

Abby sighed as well, looking a touch sulky. "I know… It's just, it sounds so right. And I've just got this _feeling_… What do you think, Tony? It sounds like exactly what you're going through."

Tony shrugged. "I'm not sure." He smirked a little. "You really think these are like…super-powers?"

Abby jostled his shoulder with his own. "Oh, definitely."

"We're following all leads on this one," Gibbs continued. "See if you can contact this anthropologist, feel him out. In the meantime, any other theories?"

Abby looked decidedly hesitant. "Yeah…well, not really…"

"'Yeah, not really?'" Gibbs quoted dryly.

"Well, _yes_, if you want to count a few mental disorders and diseases. Only a few of the symptoms Tony's experiencing match with anything else I can find, though. I don't think any of them are good matches, but I'll have Ducky look them over, and see if he's come up with any other ideas," Abby said, voice tight with more than her garden variety of petulance. McGee got the sense she was really hoping Gibbs wasn't going to press for more, especially in front of Tony, but had known he would.

Gibbs expression softened. "Good work, Abbs."

Those two never contended long. Abby let out a breath, pursed her lips, and looked at Tony. McGee knew all of them were wishing Tony would lighten the situation with a wise-crack, now more than ever. When he didn't, it left Abby prodding him to say something, and the rest of them shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Well…apart from Gibbs, who rarely looked uneasy no matter the situation.

"Tony?" Abby proceeded to urge. "You think this is a good idea?"

"Yeah…yeah. I think it sounds fantastic. Thanks, Abbs."

Tony left with a bright smile that none of them bought.

**ooo**

**TBC**

A/N: You guys are awesome at sending in the feedback; it's so encouraging, I just can't say thank you enough. =) Sorry I couldn't respond to you, Bobbie and blarney-I really appreciated your comments.

For those of you who are wondering: yes, Jim and Blair _will _be coming on stage. In the very next chapter, as a matter of fact. ;-) Also, I've just updated my profile with a few links to Sentinel info. If you're unfamiliar with the fandom, you could take a look there and get a better idea of the characters, and the premise involved. The primary focus will remain on the characters of NCIS, and I've done my best to explain things along the way, so if you don't feel like exploring TS you should still be able to understand just fine.

I look forward to hearing everyone's thoughts!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**********ooo**

Blair knew his partner was getting headache, and a bad one. Throughout the course of the afternoon he'd watched the tension on Jim's face, and felt the general aura of weariness rolling off him. Yup, he definitely had one potentially grouchy Sentinel on his hands.

Not that Jim was actually taking it out on Blair. As a matter of fact, he was enduring quite stoically. That was what convinced Blair that they needed a break. When Jim was most in need of help, he clammed up. It was annoying and occasionally more than a little dysfunctional, but that was Jim, and Blair knew his own personality wasn't always the easiest to tolerate. But they'd made a habit of putting up with each other a long time ago. Yeah, a habit, that was a big part of it. They were Guide and Sentinel, and it was a habit Blair could certainly live with, and he was secure enough in his friendship with Jim to know the feeling was mutual.

"Something funny, there, Chief?" Jim asked, as they emerged from the large conference room, merging with the general lunch-break-happy throng.

"What?" Blair thought he'd kept the smile to himself.

"As laughable an idea of inter-departmental cooperation is, I thought the woman made a few points."

"Oh, you know me, I'm all for cooperation. I think she scored more than a _few_ points, man. You should probably get a tape of that for Simon."

"Yeah, probably. So, if it wasn't the last session…"

"Nothing."

"Don't start cracking up over nothing, Sandburg, or we'll be making a trip to a whole different place."

"I've already visited the loony bin, remember?"

"Come on, what was it?" Jim prodded.

Glad to serve as a diversion from Jim's tiredness, Blair decided to forego seeing whether his friend's curiosity or dignity was stronger. "I dunno, I guess I was just thinking… You know, it's pretty incredible that, despite being polar opposites in just about every way, after all these years we're still…"

"Together?" Jim supplied with a quirk of his mouth.

Blair made a face. "Dude…that sounds like we're dating, or something. I was actually thinking 'friends'."

"And this is what you were laughing over?"

"Smiling, Jim, just _smiling_. You're the one who assumed I was amused by something."

Jim conceded with a nod of his head. "All right, well, where are we heading for lunch? I think we've pretty much exhausted the closest restaurants in the area."

"There was that one place I spotted yesterday…"

"Yeah, and I got a good whiff of it while we were walking past. No way."

"I refuse to have a burger for the third day in a row," Blair protested.

"They have those breaded chicken…things," Jim reminded.

"Don't make me puke, man. Some of the things you continue to count as palatable, even with your supposedly superior sense of taste…" Blair glanced suspiciously at Jim. "You don't turn the dial down to zero when you eat, do you?"

"I wouldn't miss a moment of junk food," Jim retorted indignantly.

"I think it's time we branched out."

"We won't get back in time."

"So?" Blair stepped first into the revolving door, and waited until Jim was through to continue. "Let's play hooky."

Jim shook his head with an exasperated look.

"Oh, c'mon, man," Blair insisted. "We've pretty much punched all the required hours already, and there's still a full day left tomorrow." He pulled the conference schedule out of his back pocket and began to read off the subjects of upcoming talks. "Ah, here's a really good one about psychology, and dealing with the emotional toll of the job… And then it looks like Mrs. let's-just-all-get-along is back for a second time."

"Sandburg…"

"But that's not _all_. Our entertainment for the evening is one 'Will Watson'." Blair couldn't help but give snort at the name's lyrical ring. "From the sound of it, he will be attempting to convert us to his love of all advantages mechanical, and usher us into the wonders of upcoming technology." He gave a mock cringe of self-disapproval. "I really shouldn't be so prejudiced, just 'cause the last guy turned out to be a total nerd, whose infatuation with computers was downright creepy..."

"Don't stop now, Chief, you're on a roll. Why don't you tell me the cons of _not_ attending the next session?"

"Well we're only in Washington D.C., man—what could there possibly be to do here?" Blair returned sarcastically.

"We took a week of vacation time for after this conference for a reason. We'll get to see your museums when this is over, Sandburg."

"I wasn't actually thinking about museums today." Blair shrugged in resignation. "But you're right, by all means, let's grab a greasy sandwich and hurry back. Wouldn't want to miss a minute. I know your affinity for all things psychological, team-spirited, and techy…"

"You've made your point. What do you have in mind?"

Blair restrained himself from doing a fist-pump, but he grinned nonetheless. "Just a walk in the park."

"Now who's making us a sound like a couple?" Jim noted wryly.

"You've had a headache for two days, Jim. And you've been getting more and more tense the last few days. Sometimes repressing your senses can be just as painful as extending them too much. You're either going to pass out or maim someone if we don't get you somewhere less crowded."

Jim raised an eyebrow and glanced sideways at him.

Blair shook his head. "I'm your Guide, man, it's my job to think of these things."

"And you always do, Chief." Jim gave him clap on the shoulder. "Let's find a place to eat…and then, the park it is."

******ooo**

A rather quaint sidewalk deli/café was finally agreed upon as a compromise. There were several healthy-sounding dishes that produced a disgusted look from Jim, from which Blair readily chose one, and a roast beef sandwich received a grudging "it's not bad" from Jim.

A walk in the park turned out to be exactly the break they both needed.

"Relax a little," Blair encouraged, as they traversed the paved pathway.

Jim's eyes absently followed a passing jogger. "It's like I'm in a fog, lately. The dials feel all…sluggish."

Blair considered for a minute, before musing, "Maybe you've got some kind of Sentinel-specific version of a head cold." He smiled non-mockingly. "You know, like your senses are congested…or something."

"Or something," Jim agreed with a short laugh. "Leave it to you to come with an analogy for everything. That does make sense, though. In an odd, disgusting way. Doesn't really explain why I've got this nagging feeling that there's _something _I should be sensing here. _Almost_ like there's some kind of threat, but… not quite."

"Huh. Let's see…" Blair narrowed his eyes in consideration of possible strategies.

"You know, you don't have to have an answer for everything," Jim commented lightly. "Just because you happen to be the world's foremost and only Sentinel expert, it's not like I expect you to automatically know everything."

"Of course I do—and of course you do," Blair interjected with a faked aggrieved look. "Now let me think." Blair's cell chose that moment to start ringing. "Ah…sorry, it must be the lady who emailed me earlier. Just…uh, try putting some mental WD40 on the dials, Jim." He flipped his phone open. "This is Blair."

"_Blair Sandburg? Hey, I'm Abby Scuito—you said in your email that calling around lunchtime would be the most convenient. I hope this a good time, because I wasn't sure _exactly_ what was too late, and what was too early to be considered 'lunchtime', and I really, really need to talk to you…"_

The "voice" in the email had sounded professional enough, and the enthusiasm of the woman on the other end caught Blair off-guard. "No, uh, this is a great time. Perfect, actually."

"_Oh good…"_

Her obvious relief made Blair smile. Her next statement made the expression freeze on his face.

"_You're the only one I could find who seems to know anything first-hand about Sentinels."_

"Oh?"

"_Yeah, your thesis…"_

Blair wasn't rude by nature, but if there was one subject that had the power to make him feel instantly anxious and touchy it was the thesis that had nearly ruined his friendship with Jim—not to mention put that friend in harm's way. Still, he tried to keep his voice polite, if a bit strained. Although Jim wasn't actually looking at him, he had a feeling his ears were probably tuned in to the conversation. "If you know about my thesis, you probably know about the statement I made to the press, too."

"_Well…yeah, I know you said that it was nothing more than an 'immoral and unethical' piece of fiction…"_

Ouch—Blair _so_ did not need to hear a re-quote of that particularly painful speech.

"…_but I don't think you really meant it."_

"Excuse me, Miss Sciuto—"

"_Abby," _she interposed firmly.

Great, now he could hardly sound as stern as he'd intended to. "Right…Abby. Look, I know how fascinating the concept of Sentinels is. Believe me, I do. But I did mean what I said. I got too wrapped up in the desire for it to be real—to prove to academia that I was right—and it made me do some pretty dumb things." It might have been his mom who, technically, created the disaster, but he'd always hold himself equally responsible for writing the thing in the first place. It had been unrealistic, and not worth the potential to damage it had always held. "I don't mean to be rude, but it's a rather painful subject for me, and I'd rather not revisit it." Now he could feel Jim's eyes on him.

"_But you don't understand…" _Her voice was softly sympathetic, but determined. _"I think I know someone who's a Sentinel. One with all five senses, like you talk about."_

Jim and Blair's eyes met with simultaneous "oh boy" looks, and Blair opened and closed his mouth a few times as he tried to come up with a response. She didn't sound like a nutcase, but he knew there were a couple of 'em out there who had taken a fervent attachment to his theories. "Ah…Abby. I…"

"_Oh, so you _were_ protecting him, then…" _she breathed understandingly. She sounded genuinely admiring. _"That was really noble, Mr. Sandburg. It must have really been a huge self-sacrifice to willingly discredit all your research, and I bet your Sentinel really—"_

"It's Blair," he automatically corrected—then wished he hadn't. What "Abby" needed was some firm discouragement from any further discussion of the subject, not encouragement to call him by his first name. In a stilted attempted to undo the damage, he tried formality again. "Miss Sciuto, I'm really sorry to disappoint you, but Sentinels don't exist." He had to resist the urge to elbow a smirking Jim.

"_But you can't just… I mean, _please_, I really need your help. My friend really needs your help—he's zoned out like _three_ times in the last _week_. He really lost it the other day, and he had to call Gibbs, and now Gibbs is just…_murderous_—I mean, he's not like yelling-and-screaming murderous, but I can tell that he is, anyway—and it's because we can't come up with any plausible answers. We're all trying so hard to come up with something, and the only thing I've been able to find that fits is your stuff on Sentinels, but Gibbs says I don't have enough proof that they exist. It's the only answer I can find, though, and Gibbs is not going to be happy if we don't solve this, and To- —my friend, that is—isn't doing so well with all this. He can't keep working at NCIS if he can't control it, and I have no clue how to help him, and it's scaring him—even though he won't admit it—and it's scaring _me_, and…"_ The flow of words stopped for a moment, and she asked, sounding desperate, _"Mr. Sandburg—Blair? You haven't hung up, have you?"_

God help him, he _should_ have hung up. However, there was something about her anxiety—so obviously genuine in its rambling, unrehearsed way—that prevented Blair from doing so. The way she was being so careful not to mention the name of this "friend" also struck a cord with him. No one could pretend that kind of concern, and it reflected that she understood the potential danger of publicity to Sentinels. If she really did have a genuine Sentinel on her hands, that was. It was still a big "if," but one that he was becoming curious to confirm or disprove. "No, I'm still here," he assured. "Could you hold on a minute?"

"_Uh…sure."_ She sounded like she was biting her lip, crossing her fingers, and pressing the phone too tightly to her ear. Hmm, maybe those Sentinel abilities were contagious. Or maybe he had a really wild imagination. _"I'll be here,"_ she added, obviously prodding _him_ to remember to be to be there too.

He covered the speaker on his phone, and lowered it, looking uncertainly at Jim. He expected Jim to respond with something along the lines of "Alex Barnes ring a bell?" but instead Jim looked as if he was actually giving it some frank consideration. Blair raised both eyebrows in an equally frank display of his surprise. Jim mirrored the expression, as if to say, "Hey, I can be humane, too, ya know." Blair shrugged and shook his head. _It's up to you, man. Your call. _Jim gave an enigmatic smile that looked partially incredulous—at himself, no doubt—and nodded. Blair hesitated. _You sure about this, Jim? _Jim gave him a threatening look: _just do it, Chief, before I change my mind. _

"Abby? You still there?"

"_Yes!"_

Blair cringed at the volume of the answer. "Can I ask where you are?"

"_Oh, yeah, sure—my lab_." She corrected herself before Blair had the chance, giving a small, lightly self-derogatory laugh: _"Of course, _you_ mean where, _geographically_… Washington D.C.."_

Blair shared yet another surprised glance with Jim. "How…fortuitous."

"_What do you mean? Everything I found online about you says you live in Cascade, Washington _state_…"_

"Yeah, I do. But right now I'm away at a conference."

"_You're _here_?" _Abby jumped to the conclusion with delight. _"This is like… whoa, _fate_. It was destined to be."_

"Wait a minute, we—" Blair began.

"'_We'? Does this mean you're with your Sentinel? That's right, the thesis said he was a with a detective with the Cascade PD, so you must be at a conference for—"_

"I didn't say—"

"_Sorry. That's all right; I won't make you say anything you don't want to. I promise I won't pry, or anything, if you help us… It's just, if you really do know a Sentinel, it would be awfully encouraging, I think, for…erm, my friend to meet another…one." She laughed. "Boy, that sounded awkward."_

"Can I say something?" Blair inserted as soon she paused. Jim was smirking again, and this time Blair did give him a quick jab between the ribs.

"_Oh, God, I'm sorry, I'm babbling…I've just been so excited, and scared, and now I'm so relieved." _She checked herself sheepishly._ "But, yeah, sorry, babbling again."_

She _was_ babbling. But what Blair found interesting was that her babble, for all its incredible speed, and occasionally too-bright, too-ditzy quality, it wasn't nonsense. She was intelligent. Emotional, definitely, but no idiot. He had a feeling the amount of emotion she was showing now, although not an anomaly, was currently at a more intense level than was entirely normal for her . "I can't promise anything for sure, but…"

"_Lunch—tomorrow? Or, wait, you're at a conference… Maybe dinner?" _

Blair had to smile. How on earth did she fuel that kind of eagerness? A steady stream of caffeine? And Jim thought _he_ could be hyper. "Yeah, I think dinner would be great."

"_Great," _she echoed. _"I'll see when Gibbs and…" _She seemed to have come to a decision, and entrusted Blair with a first name,_ "…Tony can get away, and call you back later about details."_

"Sounds good. But, um, Abby… Watch out for him, okay? Zones can be really dangerous." In his mind's eye, Blair could see Jim out in the street, eyes mesmerized by the sight of the red Frisbee in flight, oblivious to the garbage truck bearing down on him. Blair had come way too close to never really getting to know his Sentinel at all.

"_Aww, I will,"_ she replied fervently. _"But don't worry, he has lotsa keepers."_

******ooo**

**TBC**

A/N: I continue to be blown away by all the encouraging reviews you guys are sending! I really, really appreciate it. Thank you _Dani, Gloria Ferguson, g, Kelly, _and _Gold Berry_—though I didn't have a way to respond to you comments, I loved hearing from you. ;)

Here we have our first meeting of NCIS and TS characters... And, of course, the next chapter has face-to-face encounters between Blair, Jim and several more of the NCIS cast. As always, hope you enjoy this chapter, and I'd love to hear your thoughts. =)

Ah—almost forgot to mention this. Anyone unfamiliar with The Sentinel won't have a clue who "Alex Barnes" is. Don't worry, I will be explaining a little about her later on in the story. Suffice it to say, for now, she's another Sentinel Jim met once upon a time, and things did NOT go well at all. If you want to know more now, I do have those reference links to more TS info/fics up in my profile. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**************ooo**

"I swear, I was _really_ careful." Abby's eyes flickered uncertainly between Gibbs and Tony. "Well, maybe I talked a bit too much. I wasn't planning to, but asking them to help and all, I kind of felt obligated to show them at least a little trust. I didn't give him your last name, though, Tony, and there've got to be a lot of Tonys working at NCIS—and he might not even remember I mentioned NCIS at all."

"You did good, Abbs," Gibbs assured.

"Caff-Pow good?" Her insecurities not entirely dissolved, she smiled archly nonetheless.

"At least two," Tony promised. "On Gibbs' tab."

Gibbs serenely unconcerned glance indicated whose hide the cost was going to be exacted from.

Tony gave a short, nervous laugh, his fingers drumming on the round, white linen-covered table.

It was an upscale restaurant, but the dress code standards were comfortably casual enough. They'd asked to be seated in an out-of-the-way corner, and were now waiting for the rest of their "friends" to arrive.

Abby, Gibbs noted, seemed determined to voice enough anxieties for all three of them, since he and Tony were less inclined to conversation. Not that he was actually _anxious_—apprehensive, certainly.

"You know, if you'd asked, Ziva, and McGee, and Ducky, and everyone, they would've come…" Abby told Tony, with unshakable confidence in their co-workers' concern for Tony.

Tony looked like he was trying to imagine such an entourage. "Yeah, well, no reason to tie up everyone's evening."

"Honestly, Anthony DiNozzo, sometimes…" Abby gave Tony a pursed-lipped shame-on-you expression. "I'd say we all consider _more_ than one tied-up evening worth figuring this out, right Bossman?"

"'Course," Gibbs replied easily.

It was amusing the way Tony ducked his head in embarrassment at that, and shifted the subject. "You suppose Ziva would've held my hand for this?"

"You just have to push your luck," Abby disapproved with a contradictory grin, happy to see his roguish self making a brief reappearance.

"Abby Sciuto?"

Gibbs noticed the newcomers out of the corner of his eye. Somehow, he hadn't been prepared for their current one-and-only hope to look quite so young. There was another man behind him, but from Abby's expression Gibbs was guessing this was the owner of the voice belonging to the Sandburg she'd talked to.

Abby had no qualms whatsoever. "Yup, that's me," she owned cheerfully. "But just Abby, remember."

To his considerable credit, the younger man, though surprised, didn't seem at all taken aback by her inescapably Goth theme. It earned him a grudging notch up in Gibbs' opinion.

"And I'm Blair Sandburg—just Blair, though, please," Sandburg introduced himself to the table at large. He gestured to his companion, and Gibbs heard a definite edge of pride to his voice as he introduced, "This is Detective James Ellison."

"_Jim_," the other man amended with an amused glance at his friend.

"Oh, please, sit down first—and I'll finish introductions," Abby said, polite, but carrying out etiquette by her own rules as usual. "Blair, Jim, this is Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs." She was even more blatant in her pride at using his full title, but at a look from Gibbs added, "You could probably just use Gibbs. And this is Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo…Our very own Tony."

It was a little comical, Gibbs thought, the way the only two non-ranked people present were treating this like it was some kind of epithet duel. Thank God they didn't have any other government agents along or they'd have been making introductions all evening. "_Thank you_, Abby…"

"Welcome, Gibbs."

There'd already been nods of acknowledgement all around, and things might have become even more socially awkward if the waitress hadn't filled the gap with a well-timed appearance. Her tip was rising.

They ordered, and she left them to their conversation, which so far… wasn't. Abby and Blair made small talk, affording Gibbs the opportunity to observe the anthropologist. He was short, nearer average height, really, but seeming more so in contrast to his friend, wiry, and, as it turned out, had an outgoing manner of engaging in conversation that was perfectly compatible with Abby's. And he looked like he belonged in the seventies. Sure, Gibbs never let prejudices get in the way of his job, but he also never ignored his impressions of people. Sometimes that involved prejudices, because prejudices often had valid reasons backing them up, no matter how looked-down upon or un-politically-correct they might have become. In any case, he was entitled to his own opinions. The kid looked like a hippy.

Ellison didn't look like he belonged on the same page. Ex-military, almost certainly. He was athletically built and reserved.

So, Abby had mentioned the possibility of meeting a Guide _and_ a Sentinel. If Sandburg was the Guide, that meant Ellison… Gibbs looked more closely at the detective, wondering if he'd missed something. Not that he was expecting some blatant outward manifestation. After all, Tony didn't actually _look_ any different, aside from a certain pessimistic expression lately, and the washed-out hue of his skin. Yeah, Gibbs had his work cut out for him, there. But the point was, Ellison was calm, and to all appearances sane, occasionally smiling at the animated conversation between Sandburg and Abby. He looked…in control.

Gibbs looked back at Tony. Worn and tired, his fear was covered by a brittle cheerfulness that couldn't fool anyone who knew him. Uncertainty, and exhaustion. If Ellison really was a Sentinel—if all this stuff Abby was going on about was real, and it was what Tony was—then this Sandburg just might also have the key. _Maybe we'll get to the bottom of this in one evening after all, DiNozzo. At _least_ two Caff-Pows, Abbs._

**********ooo**

While he talked, Blair kept a casual eye on "Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo". He looked tense. Even more tense than Jim was. Oh, both of them behaved _civilly_, but Blair had a feeling neither of them were in any way comfortable with the meeting. They certainly had their excuses. Jim had enough bad experiences, ranging from Alex Barnes to Lee Bracket to Blair's thesis, that provided him with adequate justification to never want to reveal his abilities to anyone ever again. Those had been accidental revelations. This was, insanely enough, intentional. Blair wasn't too keen on that side of this, either.

But then there was Anthony DiNozzo, who looked on edge for another reason. He didn't know what was going on with himself: why his senses suddenly seemed determined to overwhelm him with input. And he couldn't control any of it. He was scared, lost, and clueless, and likely _almost _as reluctant to admit to it as Jim had been. In other words, he was at the same place Jim had been when he and Blair had first crossed paths. Blair knew that was probably the only thing keeping Jim here. But Blair also knew there was something they were going to have to get absolutely, one-hundred-percent clear before either of them explicitly admitted anything about Jim being a Sentinel. Blair was eager to hear the details of Tony's experience, both from a scientific mindset as well as out of more compassionate motives. However, he was more determined to follow Jim's lead on this one.

Looking back and forth between them, Blair was on the watch for yet another likely cause of tension. His data might be somewhat limited, but both research and personal experience pointed to the results of a meeting between Sentinels being… not pretty. With Alex, Jim had been crazy just being in the same city with her, a tug-of-war between instinctive attraction and mating urges and the instinctive territorial need to get the other—hostile—Sentinel away from his "tribe" and his Guide. Fortunately, the whole mating urges thing seemed to be… quite obviously not an issue here. The whole territorial dispute thing, however, could prove even more frightening.

So far, the level of such tension was proving surprisingly low—which would fit with theories Blair had considered before, regarding the occasional need for Sentinels to work together in the course of protecting tribes, or even as part of the training of younger Sentinels. In this case, Tony was younger mainly in the sense of inexperience. His abilities might not even have come fully "on-line" yet, and he apparently didn't have an established Guide to protect, all things that might help to defuse hostilities. Temporarily, at least. Definitely something to keep an eye on.

After their meals had arrived, and small talk began to dwindle, Jim finally began.

"Let's just get something straight from the beginning, here," he said in a low, not-quite-hostile, but warning, voice. "You guys seem like professionals. I don't have any way of knowing for sure yet whether you actually need our help in the way you claim. You might, or you might not. But I want to make it clear: if this is some kind joke, or an attempt to get information or use us for your own purposes, drop it now. Sandburg's not going to be forced to endure any more ridicule from _anyone_ over his thesis."

"Understood," Gibbs answered evenly.

Jim and Gibbs locked eyes, and it ended with Jim nodding in at least partial concession.

"You'll understand, then, if I have to promise to kill you if you're using him," Jim gestured towards Blair with a small jerk of chin, "in any way to further some hidden agenda."

Blair certainly hadn't expected Jim to take this slant. _Jim_ was the one in actual danger if things went south, here. A corner of his mind was simultaneously fascinated by the fact that it was not the two _Sentinels _who were facing off at the outset. Could it be just because of the different alpha-male dynamics of this group?

Gibbs again met Jim's gaze squarely. He looked vaguely amused, but not in a condescending way. Actually, he looked rather… approving? "Yeah, I can understand that."

**********ooo**

It was like converting Jim to the idea of being a Sentinel all over again.

This afternoon, they—the same ensemble from the previous night—were using a park as neutral territory for a test run. Only, Tony wasn't so keen on actually doing tests, as Blair was discovering. Not that Blair had been so undiplomatic as to call this a "test" or an "experiment." He wasn't waving cameras around, or trying to get Tony to perform incredible feats, or explaining to him how cool it was that he was a "behavioral throwback to a pre-civilized breed of man." Nope, Blair liked to think he was a whole lot more experienced this time around. And his new pupil was still turning out to be just as stubborn as his first.

Tony was more polite about it then Jim had been. After all, he hadn't grabbed him by the front of the shirt and called him a "neo-hippy witch-doctor punk." Although, that _could_ be yet to come. In all fairness, though, he had kind of deserved it at the time. His initial approach to Jim had been… less than tactful. In any case, Tony's look had said, plain as day, "You're crazy," when Blair suggested he try extending his sense of smell _voluntarily_.

"Why?" Tony said aloud, when Blair insisted.

Blair glanced at Gibbs, who was striding patiently on Tony's other side, listening, but so far not speaking.

"Because, Tony, you need to practice this if you're going to control it."

"Not to be rude, but, actually, I was thinking more along the lines of getting _rid_ of this."

Blair sighed. _Here we go again. _He didn't bother looking to Jim for input, since he could hear he was busy behind them being talked at by Abby. "Look, if I come up with a way to get rid of a Sentinel's abilities, I'll let you know, but in the meantime…"

"Ellison's a Sentinel," Gibbs interrupted, his statement sounding part question.

"Yeah, and he has got to be…" Tony began adding to Gibbs question, than hesitated.

"Cured?" Blair was sure to give the word a proper amount of distaste. "No. He's not repressing his abilities, either. As far as he's concerned, it doesn't need a 'cure'—he doesn't have some kind of disease." He looked at DiNozzo. "And neither do you."

Tony clenched his jaw, clearly not liking the idea of "it" being a disease, but still not persuaded to Blair's view. "I can't do my job like this. Every time I…" He shook his head. "It's just not working."

"That's because you don't know how to control it," Blair spoke adamantly, hoping to God the guy wasn't as touchy as Jim had been, once upon a time. When the reaction he got was simply a dubious one, he repeated, "You need to practice this."

"Give him a chance, DiNozzo."

Gibbs didn't sound happy about it, and he didn't say it like an order, but Blair was surprised at they way Tony almost instantly deferred, though not sounding any happier about it than his boss.

"Yeah, sorry… I guess I do owe you some cooperation. You are doing us a big favor here," Tony said wryly, looking mildly apologetic. "What do I do?"

The first time he'd done this whole Sentinel thing, for a while it had been almost completely composed of one-sided begging on Blair's part, and grudging allowances from Jim. So it was a little bit of pleasant surprise to realize that, in this case, he might have the upper hand. This guy needed his help, and he was gradually beginning to acknowledge the fact—along with the fact that Blair wasn't getting anything out of this beyond satisfying a desire to help. Although Blair already had "his" Sentinel, getting the chance to help another certainly wasn't at the bottom of his list of things he'd like to do. Far from it. But there was no reason for _them_ to know that.

"I'm pretty sure there's a hotdog stand just a little ways further on," Blair began, slipping into Guide-mode like a second skin. By now, it was sometimes _more_ natural. "Just stand still for a minute." He gestured to Jim and Abby, who also stopped. "Close your eyes—"

He was interrupted by a small cry of pain from Tony, simultaneously echoed by Jim. Instinctively, Blair turned to his Sentinel. Jim was grimacing, and a concerned Abby was hovering.

"Jim, what…"

"Dog whistle," Jim gritted out. He shook his head, as if to dispel the irritating noise, and waved in Tony's general direction. "I'm fine. It just caught me off guard—help him out, Chief."

Tony was curled slightly forward with a hand to his temple. Gibbs had a supportive hand on his shoulder, but looked uncertain as to how to proceed.

"Tony?" Thankfully, there weren't any strangers nearby to observe. Blair still might have hesitated under normal circumstances, but a Sentinel needed help, and since Jim was doing all right that was all his instincts needed as incentive. "Tony, I need you to focus on my voice."

Dog whistles weren't dangerous to Sentinels, not like zones could be, or as overpowering as being caught without warning by an ambulance siren with your hearing on full blast. Nonetheless, from past experiences with Jim, Blair knew they could be painful. Blair wasn't sure why, exactly, but even when his hearing wasn't turned up high, it appeared Jim's Sentinel radar could still pick up the noise. So, apparently, could Tony's.

Tony seemed to follow the sound of his voice all right, and his shoulders were just relaxing when he jerked away again, cringing. Someone had a disobedient dog—or was just having fun with the whistle. _C'mon, lay off it already… _

"Tony, keep focusing, here. It's gotta hurt, I know, but you just need to keep turning that volume down. Think of it like a mental dial – like on a radio," Blair murmured, keeping his voice extra quiet. "You can do it, man, you just have to keep turning it lower until it stops hurting." Blair could feel the older agent's eyes on him, both concerned for Tony and curious about his methods, but he was in his own "Guide's zone" and didn't pay Gibbs any attention. Only when Tony shuddered and relaxed did Blair relax as well. "You with us now?"

Tony took a deep breath, massaging his temples. "What _was_ that? Man…" On second thought, he glanced sheepishly from Blair to Gibbs. "I didn't flip out, or…zone, or something, did I?"

Blair made a smooth retrieval of his hand from Tony's shoulder with a reassuring cuff. "Nah, you just heard a dog whistle for the first time, you're entitled to a reaction. But you did good."

"Oh…" Tony sounded dazed. "A _dog whistle_?"

Gibbs was scowling, scanning the park.

Blair cleared his throat. "Hey, um, look…as tempting as I know it is to take out those whistle-blowers after something like this, it's not like they were trying to hurt anyone, and they are legal for calling dogs, man."

Gibbs gave him a glance that was supremely _not_ amused, and continued to look, but didn't appear to have spotted anyone in particular.

"Tony, are you okay?" Abby finally ventured forward, looking timid about actually touching Tony—an event which Blair guessed to be abnormal, given her generally demonstrative tendencies.

"Peachy." Tony's grin was precarious, but gaining strength through will-power.

"It gets better, DiNozzo," Jim offered gruffly. "Trust me."

Tony seemed anxious to be rid of their overt concern. "Uh, Sandburg, you said something about practice and a…hotdog stand?"

"You sure you're up for that right now?"

"Someone blows a dog whistle, and now I need a nap?" Tony brushed the idea off with a snort of derision. "Yeah, right. It'd take something closer to a fog horn to do that."

Well, Blair had to admire that. It was a superficially macho and flippant way of covering up an obvious drive to _get_ this, and get this well and learn quickly, if he was going to do it. Maybe DiNozzo wouldn't be such a tough case to convert after all. Of course, if he started pursuing all suggested courses of action like this he might not _last _too long... But there was something about this group—Abby, reigning in the urge to mother, and Gibbs, observing him critically—that made Blair think he'd have more than a little help in making sure he took care of himself.

**************ooo**

************TBC

A/N: You all know how to keep an authoress veeery happy with reviews. It's like…writer's caffeine! *cue happy, hyper bouncing* Every time I get one of your lovely reviews, it gives me even more energy to write. So thank you for the steady supply! And particular thanks to _Jes, g, phoenix414, Richefic, and Dani_, whose anonymous reviews I couldn't respond to, but which I found incredibly encouraging.

Ta da: (almost) everyone's met. There's more interaction to come. And more with the team as a whole—McGee and Ziva are not forgotten. ;) So, lemme know your thoughts, folks; as ever, I'm dying to hear them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**************ooo**

The angels heralding Jesus' birth could hardly have been much more enthusiastic than Tony was, heralding the arrival of the pizza.

"Pepperoni, sausage, extra-cheese… And then there's just plain ol' cheese for those of us with less refined tastes." Tony seemed to consider what he'd just said in light of his, and Jim's, abilities, chuckling as he set the boxes down with a flourish.

"Our meetings seem to have a decidedly food-based theme," Jim observed, as he made his selection. "Not that I'm complaining."

Gibbs emerged from the kitchen with four beers, tops wedged between his fingers.

"Well, no one can say no to pizza," Tony agreed, his beaming smile approving Jim's apparent shared preference for meat-topped pizza.

Actually, though, Blair could have, and often did say no to things like pizza, but the years of eating Jim's junk food were rubbing off on him. He took a slice of cheese, and wondered to himself if there was some inherent love for greasy food in Sentinels' genetic makeup. Or maybe it was just a male Sentinel thing—he didn't know what Alex's food preferences had been. That led to wondering what the "ancient" Sentinels might have considered good eating. If there was any uniformity of inclination at all, that was… He might have two Sentinels to observe, but he was far from being able to take any general surveys, or gather universal, all-inclusive information.

"Chief, you're getting that look."

Jim's voice brought him back, and Blair shook himself. "Huh?"

"Yeah," Jim insisted. "What's the theory this time?"

Well, Jim's unhealthy eating habits might be rubbing off on him, but it was a two-way street. They were both getting pretty used to each other. "Theories, but no tests," Blair promised with a smirk. "I was just thinking about how much I can already tell you two have in common."

Jim and Tony glanced at each other out of the corners of their eyes, and simultaneously down at the slices of pizza they'd been eagerly consuming.

"Yeah, anyways…" Blair continued. "It kind of made me think about Alex."

Jim raised an eyebrow humorously at that. "Thinking of some similarities there, too?"

"Alex?" Gibbs asked, after taking a draught of his beer.

"Another Sentinel," Blair explained. "And no, it wasn't any similarity that brought her to mind, _Jim_."

Tony looked back and forth between Jim and Blair. "Her? I'm sensing a story, here…"

"Uh, yeah, there is, and it probably goes just about like you're thinking it does, only a lot worse," Blair said dryly. He tried to think of a way to put this delicately for Jim's sake.

"I was stupid enough to get first blindly furious and then blindly infatuated with her, and as a result just about got Blair killed," Jim spoke up bluntly.

"It wasn't you, man, you had no idea." Blair wondered how many times he was going to have to say that. It had already been years, but something told him Jim would probably always feel some guilt over it. Still, Blair would never stop trying to get it through his thick skull. "It was _Alex_ that tried to drown me…"

"Hold on a minute," Gibbs interjected.

"Drown?" Tony said, almost at the same time.

Blair winced. Right, their audience _might_ be finding this conversation just slightly alarming. "I really should have said something about this sooner…"

"Sounds like it." Gibbs fixed him with what Blair was learning to interpret as a look that demanded full explanations, preferably sans too much unnecessary chatter

"It's about pheromones between Sentinels, and the fact that theses pheromones have a more intense effect on them. Alex and Jim…well, they kinda alternated between trying to kill each other and being pretty strongly attracted to each other, and on a more heightened and primal level than normal, as Sentinels. It blinded both of them to just about everything but each other for a while."

"You seem like a nice guy, Jim, and no offence, but I really doubt we're going to have the same problem, at least not the part about…" Tony trailed off sheepishly under Gibbs' quelling look.

"There's no way for me to know whether the degree to which they were attracted to each other is normal or not, but I tend to doubt it is." Blair shook his head. "It's a long story, but suffice it to say, Alex Barnes was far from your model citizen, so that also complicated things."

"Where is she now?" that, again, from Gibbs.

"Dead," Jim replied succinctly, apparently with zero intention to elaborate.

"You have to keep in mind that Alex was a _she_," Blair asserted quickly. "Obviously, we're dealing with a very different situation with Jim and Tony. The thing is, there could still be some instincts between them of a more…territorial nature."

"Territorial. Like dogs?"

Blair was pretty sure that, although he did sound faintly mocking, Gibbs primarily asked with a blunt aim for confirming and clarifying facts. His comparison still received narrow-eyed expressions from the two Sentinels present.

"Sort of," Blair replied, as diplomatically as possible. "Jim's already been acting a little different around Tony—"

"What?" Jim exclaimed. "I have _not_ been…" He looked less certain a second later. "Have I?"

"I hate to point it out, Jim, but you did threaten to kill them the first time we met," Blair observed mildly. "Granted, that's not entirely out of the range of normal behavior for you…" That earned him a look from Jim, which he ignored. "But you're tense, man. General stress could be a big part—"

"I'm not stressed," Jim objected.

"Well, in that case, I guess it must be purely territorial impulses, then." Blair addressed Gibbs before Jim could argue further. "On the whole, though, they seem to be getting along fine—"

"You don't need to make it sound like we're kindergarteners." This time it was Tony who indignantly cut him off.

Blair took the liberty of ignoring that. "_Tony_, here, might not be in tune enough with his abilities yet to be sensing the presence of another Sentinel, and—or—he might be too distracted by trying to figure out all the jumbled messages his senses must be sending him right now. Or…"

"Yes?" Gibbs prompted. "Or?" The way he'd been coolly ignoring Jim and Tony's protestations told Blair he was used sorting through conversations to the essential purpose, without being overly diverted by distractions. Especially ones of the DiNozzo snarking-and-whining variety.

"Or," Blair answered. "his Sentinel instincts could still be waxing and waning at times—not fully online—and his instinct to, well…_eliminate_ Jim from his territory could have yet to surface."

"It's not like this is exactly my 'territory'." Tony gestured around at Gibbs' domain. "But I haven't been barking or snarling at any of neighbors back at the apartment." He pretended to reconsider, and then shook his head. "Nope, no complaints for _those_ precise problems."

"DiNozzo."

"Shutting up, Boss," Tony replied promptly to Gibbs' warning, and took a large bite of pizza.

Gibbs sighed, rising and muttering something about "coffee" as he strode off.

Blair decided there was a conversation he needed to have, and rose as well. To Jim and Blair, he said a little over-cheerfully in parting, "Okay, I think it's time for a little…Sentinel bonding. Just, _no killing_, all right? Jim, you're the pro, here, so restrain yourself."

"This rabid _dog_ is restraining himself as we speak, Chief." Jim was deadly sarcastic, and Tony was not the recipient of his glare.

When he entered the kitchen, Blair found Gibbs leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand. He looked like he'd been waiting for Blair.

Gibbs took a drink, watching him. "Parent-teacher conference?"

"Uh…yeah, something like that." More like parent-parent conference, maintaining the analogy of Tony and Jim as kids. Thinking about Jim, Blair thought to add, sotto voice, "Jim, no eavesdropping. Pay attention to the other Sentinel, now…" _Play nicely, like a good Sentinel…_

Gibbs didn't look _exactly_ like he thought Blair had lost his mind.

Blair chuckled. "He can be a little paranoid about keeping tabs on me, when I'm with someone he's not sure he trusts. Just didn't want the kiddies listening in." He emphasized _kiddies_, hoping that Jim _was_ listening in, and gave a last warning, "I'll fill you in later, Jim—give me just a _little_ privacy, here."

"He can do that? Just listen in to what's going on this far away, without undue side-effects?"

Blair looked at Gibbs in surprise, then realized the other man was coming from a totally different place than he and Jim were at—but they'd been there. "You mean zoning? Nah, Jim hasn't done that in…well, it must be at least a couple of months. And before that, the last time it wasn't too serious. He was only 'gone' for a minute. Ironically, it was pizza that did it. Long story, but anyway. When he's hungry, I think he becomes a little more primal about going after smells. Oh, ah, don't let him know I said that…"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Man, this guy was a little unnerving. Blair couldn't tell if his dead-pan answers meant he was laughing _with_ him—without giving any outward hints—or perpetually bored _of_ him. Or, at least bored with his rambling style of talking. At least he seemed to genuinely want more information from him, and appreciate, and want to cooperate with, his attempts to help.

"You want to say something in private to me, Sandburg?"

"Yeah, I do." Blair decided he didn't have any choice. His rambling might seem superfluous, but that was how he explained things, and he wasn't going to try to change for this guy. Why had the thought even occurred to him? Sure, Gibbs seemed to have a notable ability to command his underlings' obedience, but Blair had never been one to be impressed by rank alone, and he was _so_ not starting now, however intimidating the guy could be. Good grief, he was way worse than Simon, and that was saying something. Though he wasn't really sure that Gibbs even _meant_ to be intimidating. But no, no way was he letting himself be cowed into quiet deference. That conscious decision made, he felt himself emboldened to speak bluntly. "It's not really so much that Tony shouldn't hear this… I just thought you might appreciate hearing it first. Your opinion on things seems to carry a lot of weight with him, and if you decide you're going to take charge of this, he's gonna follow, man."

"Take charge in what way, exactly?"

"In being his Guide."

"Guide?" Gibbs repeated, seeming to test the word suspiciously.

"I can't be absolutely sure about it, but I think you are. You see, every Sentinel is prone to things like zones, spikes…"

"Spikes?"

In many ways, despite his impassive, hard-to-read expressions, Gibbs was a dream come true to someone like him. He always seemed to have questions, want the details, and answering was one of the things Blair loved best. "They're kind of the opposite of zones, where instead of getting all happily lost and oblivious while focused on something, a Sentinel has one, or more, of his senses involuntarily go into overdrive. They're extremely painful, and can be overwhelming to the point where they can't pull themselves back to 'normal' levels."

At last, an expression from Gibbs. Or, at least, a brief flicker of comprehension. "Can it happen to more than two senses at a time?"

"Theoretically, all of them could." Blair winced in recollection of times when Jim's senses had spiked. Definitely one of the worst things to watch happen to your Sentinel. He looked curiously at Gibbs. "Tony's spiked?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Blair decided to back off on that one for now. Gibbs didn't appear willing to share the details, and he didn't look like the kind of man you could force things from. "Anyway, that's why Sentinels need Guides. They need someone to pull them back, and ground them. Someone who knows them, and is there to watch their back, especially when they're in circumstances where zones and spikes—or just _distractions_—have the potential to get them killed." Gibbs took a long drink of coffee, his face not revealing what he was thinking, but Blair could tell he was listening. "In Jim's line of work, there are a whole of times like that, and not much room for error. I'm guessing a day with NCIS is pretty similar."

Gibbs mouth curved wryly. "Good guess."

"Smells like blood, sights like shattered glass, things like sirens… It's all an issue for him now. I get that you'd both rather get rid of this, but at the moment that's not an option, and even if he quit NCIS, or got a desk job…" Blair shook his head. "There'll always be risks for him that most people won't, and can't, know about."

Gibbs seemed to consider for a moment, but didn't answer directly. "You said you weren't sure I was his Guide."

"Well, it could be someone else… Can you think of someone closer to him, who might fit the position better? Family?"

"No family."

Another question for another time. "Abby could be, I suppose. But I'm guessing she's not out in the field with him?" Gibbs shook his head. "And that's when he'd be the most vulnerable. Look, man, I know it's a huge responsibly, and it's a lot to process…"

"It's up to DiNozzo."

Blair thought it was funny he should say that, considering that in most things it at least seemed as if Gibbs took the lead, and Tony jumped, often literally, to follow. "I think it's one of those things you're gonna have to do for his own good, whether he wants it at first or not," Blair said quietly.

Gibbs gave a non-committal grunt in response, and inhaled more of his drug-of-choice.

"Seriously, he's going to need watching out for…"

"He's watched out for."

The adamancy and immediacy of his reaction caught Blair by surprise. It wasn't as if he'd been acting exactly indifferent about Tony's plight, but Blair hadn't gotten this direct, or vocalized, a glimpse of Gibbs' concern before. It was definitely reassuring, and only confirmed Blair's suspicions. If only he could get the guy to _follow_ those protective instincts: ta-da, instant Guide material. Blair supposed now was as good a time as any to raise another awkward subject—he already had Gibbs brisling slightly, better get it all out at once. "If Tony works at it, he will get better at controlling things. But until then, practically speaking, as far as living arrangements go, he really needs some…"

"Baby-sitting."

Blair smiled. Yeah, definitely Guide material. "Exactly."

"I'm already ahead you, there." This time, Blair knew Gibbs' expression in return—as unguarded a smile as he'd seen from him yet—was _with_ him.

**********ooo**

Eating pizza and drinking beer in silence suited them both fine for the first five minutes, but when neither Blair nor Gibbs showed any sign of returning soon, Tony took it upon himself to break the ice.

"Um, I'm not going to…you know, go all 'territorial' and try to kill you or anything." On second thought, Tony realized that it was no use trying to sound certain of something he was unsure of, not when he was talking to perhaps one of the only people who _did_ know first-hand about this wacko stuff. Genuinely wondering, and a little worried, he revised, "I'm not, am I?"

Jim apparently saw no reason to sugar-coat things. He shrugged. "Who knows."

"Well, like I said, it's not really like you're in _my_ territory…"

"Actually, Blair seems to think that the boundaries of a Sentinel's territory generally include their entire 'village'—in a manner of speaking."

"Village?" Tony echoed in bemusement.

"The people you care about and are responsible for. By extension, your city. Sandburg also has a theory about modern-day Sentinels, or at least _this_ modern-day Sentinel, and what their role as _village protector_," Jim said it in a self-mocking Neanderthal voice, "would look like translated today. I guess law-enforcement does make sense when you think about it from that angle…"

"Wait a minute—_city_? You mean…"

"Yeah, that would mean the whole of Washington, D.C. is probably your turf. Maybe more of the surrounding area, too. Lucky you."

Tony whistled softly. "Wow… So, until you're really gone from these parts, I guess I'm gonna have to tamp down on any homicidal urges I might have in your direction."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that. I'll try not to aggravate things by encroaching, but something tells me your Guide's not the sort most Sentinels would try to steal even if they could…"

Tony blinked at him. "Steal? Uh...'_my _Guide'?"

"Oh, I didn't mean that in the literal sense. Not…really someone who can _belong _to you. I just meant…you know, _Guides_." Tony stared at him, nonplused, and Jim tried again, "Guides and Sentinels, they get pretty close. They have to be, or they'd kill each other, as different as they can be from each other." He obviously spoke from experience. "Well, sometimes you still might come close to it, but after a while…you can't imagine not having them there to watch your back. Another Sentinel could be seen as a threat—you know?"

Tony did begin to see. Sort of. He knew that Blair was Jim's "Guide", Abby had told him some of this before, and it made about as much sense to him as his being a Sentinel _at_ _all_ did. What he wasn't getting here was how this Guide stuff related to _him_. "I don't have a Guide."

"Sure about that?" Jim asked casually, tipping back his beer for the dregs.

"Um…I think I would've noticed if I'd picked up someone like Sandburg." Tony shrugged. "And so far, no, I can't say I've noticed too many people following me around, volunteering for the job of my devoted side-kick." It was a bit unfair to Abby to say that, he supposed. She did, after all, spoil him, and treat him with far more loyalty than he deserved. But considering her as a possibility was asking her to take a huge burden, taking for granted that she'd want the responsibility, just because she _liked_ him and actually showed it. It seemed like a pretty large assumption to make, and especially selfish considering he _himself_ didn't want to shoulder the burden of being a Sentinel in the first place. It was pretty much selfish no matter who he tried to think of for the role. Even the Probie didn't quite deserve that.

"Sandburg isn't the definition of a Guide, you know," Jim remarked, smirking lightly. "What about your boss?"

Tony hardly knew how to respond to _that _oh-so-oblivious question. "Gibbs?"

"Why not? You two have a lot more in common than Sandburg and I ever will, that's for sure."

"He's…"

"He's what?"

Tony didn't know how to explain exactly. The guy didn't know Gibbs. "He's _Gibbs_."

"Yeah, so everyone calls him," Jim said sarcastically. "But he obviously cares a lot about what happens to you. Sandburg thinks he's your Guide, and being Guide himself, I wouldn't be surprised if he's right. Besides, Sandburg's usually just…_right_. " A little sheepishly, "But don't let him know I said that, huh?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Tony gave a smile that wasn't quite up to its usual brilliance, still processing what Jim had said. "You really think he's my Guide?" He chose not to read a whole lot into the observation that Gibbs cared a lot about what happened to him. He was on Gibbs' team, of course he _cared_… He watched out for his own.

"Just because you admire him, doesn't mean he couldn't be."

Tony looked up sharply at that. "I don't…" But he did. A lot. And he was aware that right then, the way he couldn't quite meet Jim's eyes, must've made it easily apparent. For the most part, he took a sort of pride in his admiration for Gibbs, and in displaying it openly. He was a worthy object for allegiance, after all. But sometimes it also made him feel terribly vulnerable when practical strangers picked up on it so quickly. Was he that transparent about everything?

Jim raised his hands in placation. "Hey, _I_ admire Sandburg. Sentinels might have the most obvious abilities, but I'm telling you, Guides have their own super-powers. It can be kind of freaky. No way would I ever call him _my_ side-kick. It's not like being a Guide is signing up for life-long servitude. We're partners in this."

To someone less frank, Tony's response might've been something cynical: _Well, isn't that just _sweet_, the two of you getting along so wonderfully, treating each other as equals… _But he wasn't getting that aggravating feeling he got when he knew someone was trying to sell him something. If Jim was trying to convert him, it was because he was sold on this Guide-Sentinel thing himself.

"Well, whatever… It's not like it's my choice."

Jim, wisely, let it drop, and not much later Gibbs and Sandburg rejoined them. The anthropologist kept conversation flowing with ease, not dominating, but at the same time filling up any pauses that might have otherwise been uncomfortable.

Despite what he'd said to Jim, Tony found himself wondering about who his Guide could be. If not Gibbs, or Abby, was there anyone else? He came up with a marked dearth of possibilities, which was a little embarrassing. Maybe he didn't have one.

The talk around him was temporarily flowing over his head. No matter how much Sandburg's knowledge was relevant to his situation, there was only so much you could listen to in one sitting. What didn't pass Tony's notice was the sound of raised voices outside. Trouble? Tony automatically tuned in, quickly realizing that, although loud, the voices were laughing, not angry. It sounded like a couple of guys, teenagers, maybe three, or four…

"DiNozzo."

He was made aware of the familiar pronunciation of his name, in a familiar voice, followed by a whack to the back of his head—also familiar. A blink that brought his attention back into focus on the faces around him, and his equally familiar response rolled automatically off his tongue.

"YesBoss?"

"That was…" Blair began, than seemed to be at a loss for words.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

Tony thought Blair looked mildly concerned, as he finished diplomatically, "Effective."

Gibbs seemed content with the answer.

Tony wished he knew what they were talking about. "What? What'd I do to deserve that one?" He rarely got Gibbs-slapped for _not_ saying anything.

"You…uh, zoned, Tony," Blair supplied.

"And you slapped me, Boss?" Tony said, purposefully pathetic.

"Worked, didn't it?" Now Gibbs actually looked moderately pleased with himself.

"It was those kids, huh?" Jim asked Tony.

"Yeah," Tony answered, than frowned. "But if you were listening…"

"Pulled myself back after they were a block or so away," Jim explained. "Rude, sure, but they didn't sound like they were going to be a problem."

Blair was grinning. "This is great."

Tony scowled. "I zoned, _again_. What's great about that?"

"Don't take it personally," Jim recommended as an aside. "He's just excited over some new brain-flash."

"Yeah, sorry." Blair took his enthusiasm down a notch, but barely. "It's just, you're both reacting in response to your instincts—in this case, to protect the neighborhood." His audience's lack of equal zeal didn't slow him down. "You're not even in your territory, Jim, but even so, you react to any threat of danger without thinking."

"Careful, Sandburg," Jim warned good-humoredly. "Caveman or not, I do have a brain. And there are cop instincts as well as Sentinel ones."

"Oh, c'mon, it's cool, isn't it?" Blair prodded.

"How long are you two staying in D.C.?" Gibbs asked unexpectedly.

"We still have a week off after the conference, which'll be over in two days. And, man, guys…" Blair looked around at his three less-expressive companions. "This is _way_ cooler than visiting museums."

Jim took another slice of pizza with a small shake of his head, and a smile. "Believe me, coming from Sandburg that's saying a lot."

**********ooo**

**TBC**

A/N: You guys are just…_awesome_. I am more thankful than you can possibly know for all your comments—short or long, just knowing you guys are reading and enjoying makes my day! Thanks for the anonymous reviews from _Gold Berry, Tigerlily1221, g, Dani_, and _Unseen Watcher_, as well. =)

The revealing of The Guide begins. *g* Hope you like!


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**********ooo**

"Hey, Boss?" Tony called towards the living room as he deposited the empty pizza boxes in the trash. He strode back towards the living room as he completed his question. "I should be getting back home, and since you drove me here…" Inconvenient, that. It wasn't like he'd zoned out on any stop lights or anything. Yet. Well, so what if Gibbs' logic was logical. It was still inconvenient. Jim and Blair had left, and it was getting late. His own car was still back in the NCIS parking lot.

"The neighbors are complaining."

Tony was used to Gibbs often unapologetic abruptness, and usually he had no trouble following along, but sometimes… "Come again, Boss?"

"You party late and turn the TV up too loud." The picture of equanimity, Gibbs took a sip of what must've been his third cup of coffee in not much more than an hour.

"Sorry, I'm not following."

"You've been late with your rent one too many times."

"I wha—_Boss_?"

"Chose one, DiNozzo, or make some up yourself. Pick something from reality, for all I care." Gibbs seemed to consider for a minute. "Maybe those cockroaches are finally being exterminated—in that case, you should be able to move back in after they're taken care of."

"Uh, cockroaches?"

"An excuse."

Tony tried to keep his temper, complete with strained smile. "An excuse for what?"

"Do I have spell everything out to you?"

"That would be kind of nice, Boss."

"Your lease is up, and the landlord—"

"Land_lady_," Tony corrected, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Even better. I'm sure _she_ has excellent basis to deny you any notice, before evicting you. Considerate of her, actually, to wait until your rent was up." Gibbs steadily set out the fictitious "facts" so readily, Tony half believed him. But, of course, the other tenants of the apartment complex, _and_ Tony's landlady, all thought he was charm itself.

Gibbs wasn't done yet: "While you're in the process of looking for a new apartment, or until the neighbors cool off, or the cockroaches are gone—whatever you choose—I'm letting you stay here."

"Saint that you are," Tony deadpanned.

Gibbs grunted in what was probably causal acknowledgment of the obvious fact.

"I appreciate it…"

"Good. I've got to make a call—you know where the guestroom is." Reading Tony's next attempt to object aright, he added, "Abby said she'd swing by your apartment and grab a few of your things."

Tony knew Abby had a spare key she'd wheedled out of him a long time ago, and in some ways this arrangement made sense. The same kind of sense that Gibbs' logical argument for driving him here had made. If he zoned out, or his senses sent him for a loop again, when there was no one around, it was more than a little disquieting to consider what could happen. Tony didn't relish the vulnerable position his inability to control all this stuff placed him in, and as far as having someone to watch his back went, Gibbs felt like the natural choice. He still felt like he'd imposed enough, first calling Gibbs in the middle of the night because he'd more or less completely lost it because of a few lights and noises, then he'd sucked Abby and Gibbs into all these weird meetings, and now Gibbs was obviously feeling responsible for him. No wonder, really, when Tony kept running to Gibbs with every problem, as if he were the only friend he could depend on.

"Boss, I don't want to be, well, you know a…" _Nuisance? The world's all-time record pain-in-the-neck? _And those weren't the really brutally honest ways Tony could think of to describe himself, particularly of late.

"You _are_, DiNozzo. Live with it." Despite his sternness, Tony read the lack of any real malice behind the harshness—it was like a verbal Gibbs-slap. "I won't bother to tell you not to make me regret this," Gibbs observed resignedly.

"Quiet as a mouse, that's me," Tony reassured, grinning _un_reassuringly. It appeared they were both going to have to make the best of this, and the less sappy appreciation expressed, the less awkward.

"Mice are commonly considered _pests_, DiNozzo."

"No rummaging through the cabinets and chewing holes in things—promise, Boss."

If Gibbs' expression were any indication, he placed no great stock in his promise. Maybe the salute had been over-the-top?

**********ooo**

"You know, I'm always available for beating off your hordes of suitors, Zee-vah."

Ziva looked up from her desk to squint suspiciously at Tony.

"No, really." Tony raised both hands in a gesture that supposedly indicated his utter innocence and sincerity. "I'll just take him out from behind," Tony made a swift swatting motion with the folder he was holding, "and no more Nerdy Ned."

"Nerdy Ned?" Ziva reiterated.

"Yeah, Ned can be a short for Edward. Uh…never mind. How 'bout Creepy Crawford, then."

"His name is Edward _Collins_."

"Those English names are all the same…" Tony scoffed. "No offence to Ducky. Or Palmer. Well…maybe to Palmer. But that's beside the point."

"I appreciate the offer, Tony, and as reassuring as it is to know that calvary is not dead…"

"Er…I think you mean _chivalry_, there, Zee-vah." Tony gave her a lopsided smile.

"You had better not be correcting me when I am already correct," Ziva warned.

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

Ziva continued to examine him with distrust.

"This is what I get for expressing concern? Sheesh, I'm sorry I asked." Tony blatantly pouted.

Ziva sighed, but relented. "As much I am grateful for your _chivalry_, Tony, I think I can handle Mr. Collins."

From his desk, McGee gave a loud snigger, abruptly stopping when they both looked in his direction.

"Something funny, Probie?"

"It's just…honestly, Mr. Collins? The parallels…" McGee laughed as if expecting them to laugh along. They didn't, and he stopped. "_Mr. Collins_—having a crush on Ziva?"

"You find it amusing that someone should have a crush on me?" Ziva questioned darkly.

"Oh…no, no, I didn't mean…" McGee frowned at them. "You guys have never seen Pride and Prejudice, have you?"

"You _have_?" Tony returned.

McGee colored, but was quick to defend himself. "It's a classic. And my girlfriend liked it. I would've thought someone who _claims_ to be such a movie buff would've seen it too."

Tony liked this. Gibbs was down in the lab with Abby, and the three of them were getting along just like old times—or _not_ getting along, whichever way you looked at it. It was almost as if he weren't some kind of mutant. He had seen Pride and Prejudice, actually. At least, the new one staring a very hot Kiera Knightly, and only at the insistence of a girlfriend a number of dates back. But baiting the Probie was a fine art.

"What is this Mr. Collins like in…Pride and Prejudice?" Ziva asked, curious as usual to absorb information.

McGee considered. "Well, he's short, generally considered ridiculous, obsessive…"

"A nerd?" Ziva interposed with a quirk of her lips.

McGee smiled. "We'll have to watch it, huh? Just wait until you see him, and compare him to Collins…"

"Jane Austen has nothing over—" Tony began. And then he felt the presence that was Gibbs.

"Don't let me interrupt you," Gibbs said, sarcasm thick as usual, as he strode briskly to his desk, coffee in hand. "Starting a book club?"

Gibbs had a sense of humor, and it surfaced with surprising frequency, but his driest humor, especially as regarded their office conversation, often meant someone had better _stop_ being funny.

"No, Boss," Tony answered meekly. "Just broadening Ziva's horizons."

"We have a case," Gibbs announced, moving on without further preamble.

Ziva and McGee were instantly alert, responding to his barked orders with nods, and hurrying to follow them.

Tony didn't listen to the specifics. It was childish, petty, and self-pitying, but the fact was he felt left out, like an unnecessary appendage, a third wheel, sitting around pretending usefulness while the three of them actually _were _useful. He knew he should be paying attention. A healthy fear of Gibbs, which he undoubtedly possessed, made sure he was at least picking up the main points of the case, somewhere in the back of his mind. But McGee being sent to get gas for the car, Ziva double-checking an address… None of that was anything Tony had to be actively a part of.

No, Tony was everyone's around-the-office gofer, because Tony wanted to appear to still be a part of the team, and everyone was overly cheerful about doing what they could to make it look that way too. Just a minute ago, the three of them had been contentedly driving each other nuts again. Life had been good. Now, everyone was hesitating mid-departure, sparing him supposedly surreptitious glances of sympathy. Now why on earth would they feel sorry for _him_? After all, he was perfectly capable of any work that involved, primarily, more time behind his computer. He had the easy life. Abby had referred to his _wonderful_ new abilities as "super-powers"—so what did that make him? Research Boy? If he was a _good_ secretary, though, he might get sent on a field trip to visit Ducky today. Ah, small pleasures…

"DiNozzo." A folder landed on his desk. "Sergeant Felix Wright—I want everything you can dig up on his family and friends."

_Everything I can dig up from _here_, while you go off to the crime scene and gather evidence first-hand, because if I tried it chances are I'd zone or freak out in front of a whole lot of awkward witnesses—and/or endanger my teammates. _"On it, Boss."

"No slacking just because you're on desk duty. I mean it."

Gibbs always did. Tony watched him go, and tried not to look too openly longing. This was getting old fast. Desk duty for an injury, or even as a reprimand, was nothing in comparison to this possible life sentence. Sandburg, Ellison, Gibbs, and everyone else, kept telling him it was only temporary. But how could they possibly _know_?

Tony went to work, ticking off facts, forcing them to the forefront of his mind, looking for some unnoticed angle to approach his research from that might impress Gibbs. He couldn't afford to sulk, because Gibbs never let any of his team members do anything half-heartedly. If he was Research Boy, then, by Jove, he was going to be one first-rate, lightening quick, unsurpassable, indomitable Research Boy. He stared unenthusiastically at his keyboard, and sighed. _To the rescue_…

**********ooo**

**TBC**

A/N: Sorry if my responses get to feeling a bit automated—"Thanks! Glad you liked!"—you all just get me so energized I can hardly stop writing, and can't wait to get the next chapter ready. I love, love, _love _hearing everyone's reactions to each new post. I can't say enough about how terrific you guys are in the feedback department, or about how much that means to an author. =)) And thank you, anonymous reviewers: _richefic, Anonymous, helloawesome, Wufeigirl_, _Gold Berry,_ _Dani_, _Random __Flyer, _and_Unseen Watcher (thanks for the review, poking me to post *feels loved*)_.

Poor desk-bound Research Boy, huh? =P Chapter 8 will hopefully make up for the shortness of this one, by being nearly 4,000 words long. Incidentally, chapter 8 also begins to deal with the issue of Madame Director (I'll explain in my next note on that chapter a bit more about the time-line of this story/why Jen's director instead of Vance). ;)

Oh, and just a few more points—bear with me, patient author's-note-readers, if you can. I am on day one of a not-so-shiny, brand new, COLD. *sniffles and sneezes uncontrollably* I do not say that just to get pity (though pity's totally awesome by me), but so as to explain why there may be a lack of responses to reviews this chapter 'round. I'm working on writing more (yup…you guys are doomed not to have heard the last of this x-over *bg*), as well as on a self-promoting "fan" vid of for this story—so in addition to not feeling well, that's taking up time. (I'll post a link in the profile to the vid when I'm finished with it, and let ya all know—at the very least, it'll give people unfamiliar with TS a look at Blair and Jim, for yay!)

So, possibly no responses to reviews. But poor, sick me would reeeally love more reviews. And you guys have proven beyond a shadow of doubt you're good at reviews. *cue shameless flattery* I'm SO sure more feedback would make me feel better… *really big grin*


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**********ooo**

Gibbs couldn't afford to show partiality, not towards a team member who was struggling, and not to his team in general, over a case. There was a thin line between taking care of your own, and placing them over the job. After all, justice for the victims he investigated, and the welfare of the families they left behind, or stopping more crimes from happening, were all just as much his duty. In general, it was easy to find a balance. _Just keep telling yourself that, and you might actually believe it._

He stepped into the elevator, feeling in a particularly rebellious mood. Yes, he'd rushed through examination of the crime scene, and yes, he'd purposefully hurried back. But he'd been thorough. He wasn't slacking. Besides, Ziva and McGee had been more than willing to wrap things up while he returned.

Perhaps he was over-reacting to all this. Tony didn't need someone, literally, watching his back every minute of the day. He didn't really need a "baby-sitter," especially not here at NCIS, when all he was doing was sitting behind a desk. But still… Maybe it was the way he'd seen zones leave Tony defenseless, or the pain he'd been in during the spike, or just the general foreign ground Gibbs was walking on, trying to solve this. In any case, it made him feel paranoid about keeping DiNozzo in sight. Sandburg would probably be delighted to hear _this_, likely chalking it up to some kind of _Guide's_ _instincts_ …

He didn't really know what to think about the whole Sentinel-Guide thing, yet, but he watched out for his team members, and that was good enough for now.

His worries, today at any rate, were thankfully unfounded. Tony was right where he'd left him, and in the same condition and state of awareness, typing away conscientiously at his computer. Gibbs arrival was greeted with genuinely happy look and a promptly rattled off stream of information, most of which only confirmed that which was already apparent.

"It's looking like just a suicide, Boss. I got a hold of his psychiatrist…"

"And?"

"I got what I could outta her," Tony answered ruefully. "Which isn't much. Doctor/patient confidentiality and all that. It sounds like Wright was depressed, but to what extent…" He shrugged.

"Keep digging."

"Gottcha, Boss."

Gibbs sank into his own chair and booted up his computer. With any luck, this would turn out to be as cut-and-dried a case as it was shaping up to be. Then they'd all be back to playing catch-up with paperwork, and the contrast between _normal_ and _Tony_ would diminish, if only for a while.

He glanced across at Tony every once in a while, ignoring the sometimes self-mocking internal voice that reminded him every time he did so that he was confirming Sandburg's theories as regarded himself. At least Tony didn't seem to notice that he was under surveillance. Gibbs never saw his attention waver from the computer screen. Not the first time Gibbs looked, or the second, or the third… The fourth time, Gibbs realized he hadn't heard the sound of typing for some time. When a couple repetitions of Tony's name produced no results, Gibbs rose and approached.

"Tony?" _Not again… _Gibbs cursed the "abilities" that had been thrust upon Tony, not for the first time, and undoubtedly not for the last. Ellison had assured them that he'd zoned a lot at first as well. It got better, Sandburg kept saying. But here DiNozzo was, lost in the mesmerizing pattern that was his computer's screensaver. A _screensaver_, for crying out loud_. _

Not caring how Sandburg might have raved over his response—and, really, not knowing if was the _right_ response, but knowing he couldn't just let him sit there and dry his eyes out—Gibbs rounded the desk, bent closer, and gave Tony a light tap across the back of his head.

"DiNozzo, keep daydreaming on the job and you'll be looking at demotion." He said it in a discreet whisper, but a little more loudly repeated, "_Demotion_."

Gibbs stepped back, with an inward smile, when the effect was almost instantaneous.

Tony looked at him in obvious confusion, then dawning comprehension and embarrassment as he winced and rubbed his temple with a forefinger. "What was that, Boss?"

The phone on Gibbs' desk rang and as he moved to grab it, he shot Tony a, "Back to work" and in succession, to the person on the other end of the phone, "Gibbs." He kept a watchful eye on DiNozzo while listening to the response, ascertaining that Tony was one-hundred-percent back, and not about to topple over. Tony's return to typing answered his first question, but he wasn't completely satisfied as to the second.

"You all right?"

Tony smiled brightly in response. "Yeah, Boss."

Gibbs wasn't entirely convinced, but that would have to wait. The Director wanted to see him. His day had officially just gotten much worse.

"Special Agent Gibbs is waiting, Director."

Jenny looked up at her secretary in surprise. "_Waiting_?"

"Yes, m'am." The secretary shrugged in equal bemusement. "Not patiently, but he's waiting."

"Well, by all means, send him in before he remembers himself."

Gibbs entered with his usual determined stride, halting before her desk with a nod.

"You truly never cease to surprise me, Jethro. Just when I get used to you popping in on me unexpectedly, you start knocking first."

Only Gibbs could look so self-assured about barging in—and now vaguely embarrassed for having acknowledged etiquette.

Jen decided some mercy was in order for the display of civility. "I asked to see you, but I have a feeling you want to talk to me, too." She tilted her head, and revised self-deprecatingly, "No, of course you don't _want_ to talk to me, but you need to." Gibbs would take a seat of he wanted one, and would only give her that _look_ if she actually offered one, so she didn't bother. They were both to-the-point people. "Something's up with DiNozzo, I hear."

"From whom?" Gibbs' voice was deceptively casual.

"Does it matter?"

The hard set of Gibbs' eyes said it did. Her past experience said it was key to several peoples' health that identities remain anonymous.

"You can just tell me what's going on with him willingly…"

"Or?"

He always liked to dare her to state her intentions, testing the limits of their often tenuous loyalties. "Well I'm not talking about _torture_, but I assure you I'd rather have you tell me without compulsion." She sighed. "You know I need to be kept aware of any problems."

"I know."

"So, are you going to make this easy? You could trust me, just occasionally." Well, technically, he did sometimes. But there was trusting because you had to, and there was trusting because you chose to. She knew Gibbs didn't offer the second type lightly. "If Tony is in some kind of trouble…"

"Yeah, Jen, he is. But we're handling it."

"Care to elaborate?"

"It's complicated."

That classic stonewall was of the kind that drove her mad, especially from him. If he was going to evade giving an answer, he could at least bother to come up with something original. But this time, there was something troubled in his tone that kept a sharp retort at bay. She knew Gibbs' protective streak was unlimited with the members of his team, and particularly where it concerned Tony, and the knowledge softened her response. "The reports I've heard say DiNozzo is behaving…strangely." She smiled a little. "Even for him."

"I can't tell you now."

"Jethro…" It was supposed to be warning, but came out vaguely pleading. He was definitely worried by whatever was going on. Although she knew they'd never share the relationship she'd once hoped they would, she had far more personal feelings towards him than was strictly professional. She just wished he would stop treating her like the enemy in these kinds of situations. She was the face that represented many distasteful but necessary decisions, but _she_ was not the enemy.

She waited patiently for a response of any kind, not in the mood to press him, hoping against hope that he might be just a modicum less stubborn than usual.

"I can't tell you now," Gibbs insisted, doggedly, but with a hint of weariness. "I _will_ tell you willingly… But it is complicated. And, I think it would be better presented by someone else."

Someone else? Doctors? That made no sense. "Jethro, if this is concerns Tony's health—if some medical condition is impeding his ability to do his job—whether it's physical or mental, we'll—"

Anger unexpectedly flared in Gibbs' eyes. "There is nothing wrong with DiNozzo's mind."

"I didn't say there was." Why, _why_, did he always have to misread her? Jen supposed it was only fair to some degree, considering she seemed to spend enough of her own time saying the wrong thing. "I was going to say, whatever the problem is…we'll have to find a way to work with it." She could say that with confidence, because she knew Gibbs already was. Maybe, just maybe, she could be on his good side for once. DiNozzo was a good agent, that was for sure.

Gibbs, miraculously, relented slightly. "It's not a health problem…exactly."

_Try to hold back on the sarcasm, Jen… _"Then what?"

"It's nothing you'd be familiar with. Trust me, this is something you need to hear from someone who knows what they're talking about."

She studied him for a minute, and sighed. "Very well. But I want this _someone_ telling me before the week is out. Deal?"

"Deal."

**********ooo**

"Don't I get my own desk?" When the quip—quite witty and sufficiently aggravating in Tony's opinion—failed to elicit much of a reaction, he tried again. Abby and Ducky were in chairs pulled in from the dining room. Ziva and McGee were on the couch, while Sandburg and Ellison mirrored the arrangements on the second couch opposite. The seat remaining for Tony was next to his ex-Mossad co-worker. "Aww, Boss, do I have to sit next to _her_?"

Gibbs expression was little more satisfactory this time, though he didn't move to swat him. Leaning on wall directly behind the couch his team was seated on, he seemed to want to have a vantage from which to keep on eye on the three of them, and prowl at will. It probably hadn't escaped Ziva or McGee that Gibbs' position was ideal for accessing the backs of their heads, as well. Tony knew it hadn't escaped _him_. He resisted the urge to sink low enough in his seat to shield himself with the back of the couch.

Sandburg had no sooner sat down than he was rising again, noting that his audience was waiting. Tony found his bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, combined with the way he was rubbing his hands together, disturbingly gleeful-looking and ominous.

The anthropologist had several books, along with a notebook, spread out in front of him on the coffee table.

"Man, I never thought I'd be teaching a class like this," Sandburg began, sounding a bit jittery.

"He means he never thought he'd have a _willing_ audience for a class like this," Jim teased, much more casual and laidback, even while he watched his friend attentively.

Blair laughed. "Heh. Thanks for the encouragement, there, Jim. All right… Sentinels 101."

"Why not Sentinels for Dummies?" Tony suggested, with a meaningful glance in McGee's direction, receiving a sarcastic "thanks" in response. Tony decided to let that be his obligatory smart-aleck response for the time being. He'd undoubtedly have cause to lighten a great deal of moments ahead with inapt humor, but for now he'd be a good pupil and listen.

He was a little distracted and surprised, too, when he saw out of the corner of his eye that both Ziva and McGee actually had notepads and pens out. Honestly—_notes_? It all seemed a bit like overkill to him, but also reassuring to think they weren't entirely hostile to this impromptu and ridiculous "class." Of course, Gibbs might very well have made note-taking compulsory… He wouldn't have been surprised at that, considering that so far Gibbs was treating this learning-how-to-care-for-your-Sentinel thing pretty seriously.

"Well," Blair was saying. "This is really more of crash course than anything. There's so much to cover, I probably even won't even have time to touch on the basics. But…here's to trying, at any rate." He picked up one of the books, flipping through the first couple of pages. He began by reviewing much of what Abby had already explained briefly when she'd first tried convincing them of her theory. Sandburg showed them a picture of an "ancient" Sentinel…and Tony, really, really wished he hadn't. He was going to get enough teasing as it was, once the initial worry the whole situation engendered died down a bit.

The dark-skinned man in the picture looked imposing enough, and he packed some good muscle. He was also wearing little more than a loin cloth. Yup, the whole "primal man" thing definitely made sense in light of that image of Sentinels.

Ziva smirked, tilting her head. "I can see the resemblance."

Abby admiringly pointed out the muscle aspect, and ingeniously claimed he definitely looked "hot."

Sandburg quickly got the hint from the un-amused looks on the faces of the two present Sentinels, and moved on. Unfortunately, his next topic wasn't too much more comfortable for Tony. Zones. Spikes. They were words he cringed at the mere thought of. Living through Sandburg's detailed overview of the subject, however, made him feel a strong connection with Jim. Every now and then, their purposefully distracted gazes would meet, but instead of averting it as Tony felt the need to do with the rest, he and Ellison shared several empathetic looks.

Everyone "got" zones pretty quickly, but the phenomenon known as spiking seemed to need more explanation. At least for everyone in the room besides Tony, and his fellow sufferer. Tony didn't need a definition. Oh, he didn't know exactly why they happened, but he knew _what_ they were, and he never wanted to feel one again.

"…they're hard to define, but you need to be aware of them, guys, 'cause believe me…these things are not pretty when they hit." Sandburg said it all like he meant it—almost as if he'd experienced the pain himself. "It can be especially bad when more than one sense is involved. With sight, even the smallest things can suddenly become too much—the sun, obviously during the day, but things like car lights, too, at night. Hearing, obviously, can be particularly bad in the city. Way too much stimulation there. Sirens, cars, music… With touch, things come in to play you'd probably never think about if you weren't a Sentinel. Sun on your skin, rain, a 'pleasant' breeze, even the texture things like paper towels can feel like sandpaper… When a Sentinel's senses spike—"

"Ah, Chief? Do think we could maybe…skim over the detailed descriptions, maybe?"

Noting Jim and Tony's faintly pained expressions, Blair was instantly cooperative to Jim's suggestion, wincing in self-reprimand. "Yeah, hey, sorry about that." He cleared his throat. "I'd just like to add a specific warning for something that Jim learned the hard way. Avoid SenQuil at any costs."

Ziva looked up from her studious note-taking. "SenQuil?"

"Yeah, I'm talking about the stuff for colds. Definitely not Sentinel-compatible. It has the painful side-effect of heightening a Sentinel's abilities, not too dissimilar from a spike."

Abby was biting her lower lip. "What _can_ we give him if he gets a cold?"

Blair considered. "You know, I think it'd probably be a good idea if we got you guys some kind of list of what Jim's had bad reactions to so far. For all we know, Tony could be completely different as far as what causes problems for him, but at least it'll give you some guidelines, things to watch out for."

"I would appreciate anything you have discovered, especially medically speaking," Ducky said, frowning. "It would have been terrible indeed to have to have treated him completely by trial and error…"

"Here, here," Tony seconded.

"Yeah, I _wish_," Jim added wryly.

"My dear boy, it must have been dreadful," Ducky sympathized. "I appreciate how you've paved the way for us."

"We'll be sure to make that list, then." Blair sighed. "And it's gonna be a long one. Everything from cold medicine to certain detergents…"

Abby brightened. "I already thought of that one! I found a detergent that seems to be working just fine—at least he hasn't broken out in a rash again. You haven't, have you, Tony?"

Somehow, that didn't seem like the kind of detail he would have chosen to discuss publicly. But, he supposed he should be grateful that, at least, she hadn't mentioned the brand they'd settled on. The brand's logo had not been particularly manly. "I'm good, Abbs."

Blair smiled. "Good, good… You guys are naturals."

Abby beamed. Ziva and McGee took notes. Gibbs was silent and attentive. Tony felt decidedly uncomfortable. _They_ might all be naturals about handling him and his newfound abnormal, _un_natural problem—but _he_ was the one who needed to deal with it, and he suspected he wasn't doing a very good job so far.

Blair moved on. "Let's talk about Guides, and their roles…"

_Let's not, and say we did… _Tony wished Gibbs was in his direct line of sight. He would have liked to have been able to gauge Gibbs' reaction, as Sandburg expounded. As it was, though, he couldn't work up the nerve to do more than cast sidelong looks at the rest of his friends. He didn't want Abby, or any of the rest, to misinterpret him, or think he was looking at them for a reason. Okay, so maybe he was over-thinking this a bit, but no way was he going to saddle one of his co-workers with his pathetic, handicapped self.

"I've never met another Guide, and so have never been able to compare strategies with anyone else who's spent time working with a Sentinel," Blair was saying regretfully. "It would sure be nice to exchange ideas." His mouth quirked a little. "Although, I _did_ see a guy bring a Sentinel out of zone once by smacking him on the back of the head…"

Gibbs amused voice asked, "Oh?"

"Yeah. A bit unconventional, but it did seem to work," Blair mused in consideration.

"Don't even think about it, Sandburg," Jim growled.

"Of course, I'd only recommend it for light zones," Sandburg continued, ignoring Jim. "For deeper zones, hitting would generally not be a good idea…"

Tony thought he really seemed to like the idea—poor Jim, Gibbs was corrupting the guy's Guide.

Blair managed to pull himself back to the point, however, finishing his thought. "Even so, physical contact is one of the best ways to ground a Sentinel when they're zoning, or spiking. That is, of course, assuming touch isn't involved in the problem—if that's the case, any physical contact needs to be handled very carefully, until you get things dialed down a bit." Sandburg ran a hand through his hair. "Oh boy, and I guess I'm probably gonna have to explain more about the 'dials,' too. I think I'll have to save that for another time, though…" He looked down at the notebook on the table. "Right. Okay…" Throughout, he'd laid his suggestions out in a familiar, friendly way, but now he seemed to pull even further away from teacher-mode. He looked specifically at Tony. "Look, man, I know this has all got to be royally freaking you out, especially when your job relies so heavily on you being aware of, and able to respond to, your surroundings. But believe me, it does get better—Jim'll tell you." He didn't seem to want to give Jim a chance to ruin his momentum by not granting that comment a positive response, not pausing to provide him the opportunity. "With a little help, and some practice, man, you'll be…"

"…a human crime lab with organic surveillance equipment," Jim supplied, a hint of a smile belying his sarcasm. He shrugged at Ziva and McGee's curious looks. "Hey, not my words." He indicated Sandburg with a nod.

"_Exactly_," Blair enthused. "This is about more than controlling your senses, and keeping them from interfering—you can use this stuff to _help_ you."

"Do you think you can convince another critic of that?"

Tony didn't miss the "another" Gibbs used. _Not you too, Boss… _He didn't know why the realization that Gibbs was convinced about this Sentinel stuff made him feel slightly panicked. After all, even if Gibbs wasn't convinced, something in Tony's gut told him that he himself was convinced. So why shouldn't Gibbs be? But somehow the concrete statement just made the whole thing that much more _real. _In any case, whether Sentinel or no, he had these abilities, and he was going to have to do something about or—if he listened to Sandburg—_with_ them.

In response to Gibbs, Blair wavered, "Uh…what do you have in mind, exactly?"

_Gibbs_ didn't waver. "An informal presentation for the Director."

"The…Director? Of NCIS?" Blair visibly balked at the thought.

"Yup."

Despite Gibbs' apparent confidence in both the idea, and in Sandburg, McGee and Ziva exchanged perturbed glances.

Tony was taken to whole new heights of uneasiness. The Director_. _Tony didn't make a habit of being scared of people, even one of the all-mighty powers-that-be. Gibbs was an exception. Jen stood up to Gibbs. Watching that could definitely be, on occasion, considered a scary sight. So, yeah, he had to admit, there was something about Jen that was scary. No…creepy was probably the word. Or maybe she was mostly creepy, in a grating, maddening, irritating way? Whatever. The point was, he should've seen this one coming. But he hadn't.

Gibbs rarely explained things, but he did now, at least somewhat. "She's demanding a reason for DiNozzo's odd behavior."

"Hey—" Tony didn't know what wise-crack he was going to make at that, so it was probably a good thing Gibbs cut him off.

"—And she wants it before the end of the week."

Abby piped up apprehensively, "Are you sure honesty is the best policy this time, Bossman? I mean…I don't know about Jen." She narrowed her eyes in doubt, as if the woman were sitting right there in front of her. "I don't know if I trust her to know about Tony."

"Yeah, Abbs," Gibbs said wearily. There was trusting her, and then there was trusting her to consider the possibility that rules might need to be bent when it came to something like _this. _"Me neither. But she's not going to let this go, and it looks like we're going to need some time to sort this thing out, so DiNozzo's bound to appear more than usually abnormal for a while. She's going to have to know."

"I don't know, Boss, I'm pretty good in the lying department." Tony craned his head in Gibbs direction, grinning brazenly.

Gibbs muttered something that sounded like "Don't I know it…" but said for the room at large, "She'll see right through you, DiNozzo, even if you don't tangle yourself up hopelessly in a mess of contradictory and ludicrous 'facts' first."

"Hey—" And once again, Tony was ignored, rather mercifully. It was only true to the up-keeping of his good name and character to interrupt when insulted, even glancingly, but again, the wit was proving a bit rusty tonight.

"Think you can do it?" Gibbs asked, eyes on Sandburg.

Sandburg licked his lips, stalling. "I…"

"Hey, look on the bright side, Chief, she's gotta be easier than Simon," Jim encouraged.

Abby, not-so-encouragingly, contradicted, "Oh…no, I doubt it. She can be pretty tough about things."

Blair winced. "Great."

"No worries, Sandburg," Jim persisted offhandedly. "As long as it's not the 'thin blue line' spiel you'll do fine. And we don't even have to convince her you're my cousin."

"Oh, don't _you_ sound so nonchalant, big guy," Blair corrected, gathering resolve. "If I'm doing the presentation, than you get to help out with the show-and-tell."

It was Jim's turn to falter. "Great."

**********ooo**

**TBC**

A/N: Well, obviously, this story doesn't stop at chapter eight (like I said it would in my profile). A lil' mix up with the chapters (I won't go in to it…), but it's all sorted out now. There'll actually be eleven chapters total, plus an epilogue.

But wow…you guys are STILL keeping up the amazing-ness? Guess I shouldn't have expected less, after this many chapters, and such consistency with the feedback. You're a great crowd—and this isn't my first time posting a multi-chapter fic, so I do have some experience for comparison. ;) In particular, I'm impressed with how many of you, apparently, ARE author's-note-readers. It may seem like a small thing, but as an author I've been through many a frustration when reviewers ask questions I've already addressed at the end of a chapter, or explained in detail right at the start. So thanks for reading through to the end, dear readers, even if you do have to wade through some Ducky-style rambling. *g*

About the timeline: I'm not placing this story (or any following ones) in a strict timeframe. There are just too many complications in trying to, partially because I'm not going case-by-case and explaining how all this Sentinel stuff fits in with the Canon proper. There are, though, certain factors that tie it down a bit. Obviously there's Ziva—so it takes place a while (year or two?) after she's joined the team in place of Kate. Then there's the Director Issue. I started this when the only director I really knew much about was Jen—then, before I was even finished writing, Jen got traded in for the Vance model. I admit, I'm warming to Vance a little more than I ever did to Jen (if "warming" is even a word you use with these directors what with their love-hate relationship with Gibbs =P). But, for this story at least, it's Jen that's in charge. In future stories, I may very subtly (lol) find a way to make the switch to Vance. Unless you guys voice a preference for Jen—which I'm open to, as well. ;)

Last paragraph, I promise. Just...thanks again—and sorry that, as predicted, I didn't get around to responding to all of you. Although I recovered from my cold, it was then my poor comp that wound up sick and in need of the Geek Squad this week (my excuse for not posting sooner). But: Huzzah! I have cheated death! I am alive! :)) I received with much gratitude all the get-well-soons, tissues, and goodies sent me on my death bed. I'm quite sure it was all the lovely reviews pouring that brought about my recovery. Of course…a relapse is always possible, so it's always welcome if you want to send the poor, sickly authoress more reviews post-haste to stave off further illness. *feels (a little) bad for her transparent attempt at manipulation*


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**************ooo**

Jen was feeling generous. Well, she was actually feeling a little amused, which inclined her to be generous. It wasn't every day Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs brought in such a motley crew as he had today. Perhaps to interrogation—but not her office.

She probably shouldn't be allowing herself to find humor in this situation, since everything that had so far been said to her, although rather laughable in the theoretical sense, was not laughable at all if Gibbs really thought it was real. It was definitely not humorous if it really _was_ real. Usually what Jethro accepted was pretty much synonymous with reality, but at the moment she wasn't so sure.

The shorter man, a Blair Sandburg, had apparently just come to the end of his explanation of the phenomenon that he called "sentinels," and stood waiting for her reaction, his nervous energy barely held latent. Next to him, his friend, Detective James Ellison—a "Sentinel" himself, apparently—was much more self-contained.

DiNozzo was in a twitchy state, discreetly positioning himself as much in her peripheral view as possible. No wonder. You couldn't help but feel sorry for his…condition, whatever it was.

Initially, she thought they were jumping the gun a little by assuming Tony's heightened senses were what this not-entirely-reliable-looking source was claiming they were. It wasn't just a biased opinion based on first impressions, though the long hair didn't work in the man's favor, as far as she was concerned. But he was an anthropologist, not a doctor.

Gradually, though, listening, she had to take into consideration that Gibbs and his team—and probably Abby and Ducky, if she knew them—were supportive of this, as well. Gibbs didn't do sloppy research, or jump the gun, or go on feelings, even gut feelings, alone. She would have to talk to Ducky about this, though. Whether or not he already knew, she was interested in his opinion. For all any of them knew, there could be a more, comparatively, commonplace medical reason for Tony's recent problems. _And that kind of negligence in looking into details is exactly what makes Gibbs my top agent… _Yeah, Ducky was aware all right, and had almost certainly ruled out the more commonplace possibilities.

Gibbs himself was, of course, in full command of any emotion he was feeling. She might have been imagining it in her search for a sign to the contrary, but she thought his posture was a bit strained. She couldn't laugh at him for his concern over the situation; the loyalty of Gibbs' team to each other was admirable.

They were waiting for her reaction to their little presentation, and she didn't know exactly what to say. She needed more, and something told her they'd come prepared for her skepticism. She pulled herself up a little straighter in her seat, and with only lightly condescending attention urged, "Please, continue."

Not antagonistically, Sandburg returned, "What else do you want to know?"

"Well, I'm afraid I'm going to need more proof. Even assuming all this about Sentinels is real, I have yet to see how all the problems Agent DiNozzo has been experiencing could possibly be useful, as you seem to think." Jen eyed him steadily, impressed by his fortitude and tenacity if nothing else.

"I don't _think_ it can be useful. I know."

Sandburg looked slightly surprised when his friend Ellison spoke up in support of the anthropologist's adamant claims.

"I thought I was going crazy," the detective said gruffly, as if being forced into a confession. But he was intensely sincere, if in an oddly contradictory direct, and at the same time grudging, way. "The doctors couldn't find anything wrong with me, and I was getting desperate. And then along comes Sandburg, with his theory. It sounded even crazier than my problem." Ellison met her gaze evenly. "He was right, though. I wouldn't have been able to keep doing my job, much less excel at it, without his help. If you need proof that I _have _been excelling, you've only got to look at my record since Sandburg started working with me."

Jen made a scan of the assembly, lingering once again on Sandburg. "And you think you can help Agent DiNozzo with this as well? You think you can…sort this out?"

Sandburg clenched his jaw, his voice polite, but strained. "No, I can't sort it _out_. This is permanent, as far as I know." He sighed, seemed to gather resolve, and began again, even more earnestly. "Look…Sentinels in the past used their abilities to protect and help their people, and Sentinels today, well…they still possess the ability to do the same thing. Right now I'm sure dealing with all this seems like a problem you'd rather just get rid of, but believe me, in the long run having a Sentinel working your cases can be a huge asset."

Under his breath, DiNozzo muttered, "The '_asset'_ is sitting right here…"

Jen maintained her focus on Sandburg. "I repeat, I have no _proof_, aside from the fact that Special Agent DiNozzo has been behaving even more oddly than usual. And I fail to see how that could possibly be a good thing."

"Okay…right." She could all but see the wheels spinning in Sandburg's head as he thought. "Uh, I know this is probably a bit unconventional—"

"She's asking for the proof, Sandburg," Gibbs interrupted. "Give it to her."

"Right," the anthropologist repeated distractedly. He gestured to Ellison. "Director, Jim is willing to undergo any tests— under the condition that anything you learn about him remains confidential, and within reason, of course—" He gave a nervous laugh. "—that will prove to you both that he possesses the abilities I've been talking about, and that he can use them effectively."

Ellison looked anything but comfortable with the idea, but he nodded.

Jen raised an eyebrow. "What do you suggest?"

"Why don't I ask you some questions—just, a few simples ones. You answer with truth or fiction. Whatever." Sandburg looked almost smug with confidence and pride in his friend's abilities. "Jim'll be able to tell whether you're lying or not."

"You didn't say anything about mind reading," Jen said doubtfully. If this was some kind of elaborate prank, to see how much idiotic nonsense she would take before throwing them all out of her office, than heaven help them. Out of the corner of her eye, she studied Gibbs suspiciously, before pulling herself incredulously back from the thought. She wouldn't put pulling pranks above Gibbs, for all his dignity, and it certainly wasn't above DiNozzo, but this was hardly of the kind that either of them would've tried. She also liked to think they wouldn't have dared attempt it on her.

Sandburg hastily defended, "No, not mind reading. Keeping track of your heartbeat, breathing…Basically, a human lie-detector."

"He can do that?" Jen looked at Jim, and amended awkwardly, "That is…you can do that?"

"Try me," Jim challenged.

She gave an inviting sweep of her hand in surrender.

Sandburg considered for a minute. "What's your favorite food?"

"Lobster," she answered without hesitation.

Jim, eyes narrowed, and head tilted slightly to one side, shook his head.

Arms crossed, Gibbs was wearing a thin, satisfied smile. "Steak Diane."

Jen restrained the urge to shoot him a look of irritation. Gibbs could have conceivably revealed that fact beforehand. Why he would have revealed that fact was impossible to guess at, and ridiculously far-fetched. But still, it wasn't impossible for Ellison to have known… Or it could've just been a lucky guess.

Sandburg cleared his throat. "Uh…Have you ever been to Europe?"

"Yes." She watched Ellison watch her, and as an afterthought added, as sincerely as she could, "A very pleasant, relaxing vacation in Paris."

Ellison smiled. "You've been to Europe, but either your 'vacation' wasn't entirely relaxing, or it didn't take place in Paris."

Gibbs thin smile became more pronounced.

Jen narrowed her eyes at Sandburg. "Impressive." But she purposefully put an expectant edge to her voice, that dared them to do more than mildly surprise her.

Sandburg had, apparently, been anticipating it. He gestured to a legal pad and pen on her desk. "Write something—don't let any of us see—and rip it, and three or four of the following pages out."

Jen hesitated a moment, but curiosity won out. It all felt annoyingly like some children's game, but she tilted the pad away from them and, after a brief consideration, jotted down her phone number. She ripped it, and the following four pages off, and handed it across to Sandburg, who in turn handed it to Ellison.

Ellison began to run his fingers over the surface of it, eyes not focused on it, but narrowed and unfocused on his surroundings, like a blind person reading brail. But, surely, he couldn't actually feel the imprint left by the pen through four pages.

Head tilted in the same manner as when he'd, supposedly, read her pulse, Ellison, murmured, "6…"

"What's that, Jim?" Sandburg reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Stay grounded, man."

"Yeah, no, I'm here, Chief. It's a number. 644-3519."

Sandburg looked expectantly at her.

Jen nodded, feeling bewildered, and determined not to show it—at least not too obviously. Jethro was, doubtless, reading her like a book.

Ellison wasn't done, either. "That's not all, though. That's only the most recent. There's a list here for groceries, probably from the previous page—it overlaps. Orange juice, taco sauce, lunchmeat, olives…" He was smiling. "And something else too, but I can barely make it out. Something about meeting with—"

"All right, all right," Jen interrupted. "You've impressed me again. I can see he has exceptional tactile abilities…" Not unlike someone blind, practiced in using their sense of touch, might possess, she supposed.

"And hearing," Sandburg pressed.

"Well…" She wanted to believe, she really did, but as the director of NCIS she couldn't afford to jump to hasty decisions just because someone _appeared_ to be performing miracles. "Though his being able to tell when I was lying could very well have been because of his abilities, it's also possible it could be explained by the fact that he's an experienced detective, and trained to read people. I'm sorry Mr. Sandburg, if I seem hard to convince. I assure you, I do take your claims seriously." She winced inwardly at the edge of condescension she hadn't intended the words to have.

Sandburg looked more indignant at her doubt than Ellison, but quickly subdued it, putting on a professional face.

Jen noticed that Gibbs' expression was far from losing its serene confidence. He could really be infuriating sometimes. It was as if, even when one of his plans seemed to be failing, he knew beyond a doubt that eventually they'd begin to turn in his favor.

Ellison actually looked good-humored about the situation. "Hey, Chief, it's fine. She's in a position where she needs to weigh decisions carefully. We'll just have to 'impress' her further." He looked to her for permission with a respectful, but faintly amused, expression.

He was really far too confident, Jen thought. Gibbs confident. She couldn't help but nod her acquiescence. Curiosity was definitely taking over, even if she still clung to skepticism for comfort's sake. This was all too foreign and bizarre.

The detective got that distant look in his eyes, brow furrowing in concentration, but not eclipsing his generally composed manner, which seemed to grow more satisfied as he focused on whatever it was he was focusing on.

Jen didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't what she got.

"You have a watch in the top drawer of your desk—on your left. And in the bottom drawer on the same side, a candy bar—Snickers—and a bag of potato chips. Sour cream and onion."

The room was quiet. Gibbs raised an eyebrow, at the revelation of her drawer's junk food content, no doubt, as much as anything else.

"I…can't always leave for lunch." _Well-stammered, _Jen_,_ she thought, disapprovingly. But she did have some excuses. After all, she knew the contents of her drawers matched up with what he'd said. It was definitely unnerving. She cleared her throat. "How did you…" They'd already said how he did all this. They were claims she was slowly beginning to believe, despite herself. She tried again, "That is, that was… That was extremely impressive."

Sandburg was beaming. "I'm sure you can see now how effective a Sentinel's abilities can be. Just imagine the uses…"

"Yes, I do begin to see." She was finally gathering herself together, at least outwardly. She aimed her full attention—and thus the room's attention—at DiNozzo. "Special Agent DiNozzo, don't think I haven't noticed how quiet you've been throughout this conversation. To say this involves you would be an understatement."

DiNozzo was cringing under the weight of the interest, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"That means I'm waiting for your input, Agent DiNozzo," Jen added not without sympathy for his situation.

"You mean…do I think this is a good idea?" DiNozzo laughed mirthlessly. "'Cause it doesn't really seem like have a _choice_."

"Do you want to stay with NCIS?" Jen prodded.

DiNozzo looked at Gibbs. Gibbs gave him a hard stare, which apparently was meaningful to younger agent, who gave the smallest of nods in return.

DiNozzo looked back at her. "Do I have a choice?"

"Yes." She had, apparently, made up her mind. Despite the risks, despite the gnawing uneasiness she felt, despite paranoia that always reminded her it was better to be safe than sorry…she couldn't say no. But along with her leniency, there would still have to be stipulations. "If you want to remain, you will have to go through some unofficial re-qualification procedures. And they'll be set to a more rigorous standard to ensure your…'abilities' will not be a hindrance. Even when you do resume field work, I expect a gradual re-integration, allowing time for you to acclimate yourself to being a…well, Sentinel." She sighed, her mind going into overload thinking of all the safeguards this was going to require. All off the record, of course. "You'll certainly need to be aggressive in learning how to train your abilities, and…"

"We'll take care of it, Jen."

She'd almost forgotten they were actually standing there, listening to her think out loud. She looked at Jethro as he spoke.

"We'll take care of him."

A slight change from, "it" to "him," but Jen knew its significance to Gibbs. Tony was part of his team, and Gibbs would make sure he did this whole Sentinel business the right way. "Aggressive" was probably putting Gibbs approach to this lightly.

Jen took a breath, and studied him. She was almost certain there was a "thank you" written somewhere in the softening of his expression.

**************ooo**

"Hey Boss," Tony used his customary greeting, which, over the years, had evolved more or less into one word. There were so many combinations, too: "Gottcha-Boss," "On-it-Boss," and—Tony's true forte—"Yes-Boss." It was as if anything respectful and affirmative in Tony speak had a default end conjugation, at least where it concerned The Boss.

Gibbs was used to hearing variations of the same upon entering the bullpen, often as he came bearing a head slap with Tony's name on it. He wasn't so used to being hailed thus upon opening his own door. He decided he could definitely get used to it. DiNozzo was better than a Golden Retriever. Yeah, he was probably stretching the dog analogies a bit thin, but, hey, if the shoe—or breed—fit, why not? The loyal ol' St. Bernard that growled too much, and the attention-starved Retriever with abandonment issues. Not the kind of well adjusted personalities perfect friendships were usually founded on, but it worked just fine for Gibbs.

"Just had to get out for some fresh air and grown-up conversation, huh?" Tony, hands in pockets, leaned casually against the doorframe between hallway and living room. His smirk said he clearly wouldn't have been at all hurt if Gibbs' outing had been a temporary escape from Sentinel-watching detail. They were, after all, both adults, and Tony's current inability to, say, bar hop, shouldn't keep his self-appointed baby-sitter from living a little.

Tony obviously recognized that, and how utterly selfish it would have been to, in any way, act as if he'd been abandoned. As a matter of fact, DiNozzo, literally smirked at the pettiness of the idea.

_Sure you do, kid. _Gibbs might have once considered himself one of the most stand-offish people he knew when it came to developing close relationships. Then he'd met DiNozzo, and watched him go through girlfriends like breaking up was his proudest skill. Gibbs had since come to recognize Tony's brazen, laughing-in-the-face-of-long-term-attachments attitude for what it was. And Gibbs' response? _Push all you want; I'm not so easy to ditch. _

Gibbs rarely explained himself, however, and although his absence of several hours had to have made Tony curious, some things were better shown than told.

Doing his highly honed skills of detection proud, Tony finally noticed the bags Gibbs carried in either hand, and queried, "Shopping?"

"Get the box out of the passenger seat. And lock the car."

Tony only showed a hint of rebellion at the cryptic non-answer, and left to do his bidding.

"Gee Boss," Tony's voice preceded him, as he returned from his errant and followed Gibbs into the kitchen. "If I'd known you were going _shopping_ I would've ditched the McGeek and had some real fun."

"Speaking of McGee…"

"Oh, he got me here like a good little underling, but apparently threat of bodily harm brought out his true loyalties. Well, actually, it might've been the threat of a Magnum marathon that actually sent him packing," Tony rambled, his usual incorrigible grin traded for an interested expression as he studied the box he held. "Uh, what is this?"

"A white noise generator. Yours."

"Ah, yeah, I can see that, but… Wait, mine?" Tony studied the box some more, as if searching for a flash of enlightenment. "It's not that I haven't always wanted a…one of these, and the thing looks expensive, but…"

"It's noise-canceling, DiNozzo. It was suggested on the list; Abby demanded it."

"Why would I need—"

Gibbs looked over his shoulder from where he was unpacking a bag to stare at Tony, and it only took the younger agent a few seconds to catch on.

"Right. For…at night, like Ellison mentioned. And you really, really don't want me to make a big deal out of this whole gift-giving thing, or how touching it is that…uh, _Abby_ thought to get one of these, 'cause that would only make things more awkward…and, yeah, I gottcha Boss." Tony set it down on the table with a sheepish laugh, and, mercifully, no attempt at further thanks. He switched the topic hastily. "What's all this?"

"I don't know, Tony, what do you think?" Gibbs returned sarcastically, pointedly producing bananas and setting them on the counter.

Tony cast a dubious look at the fruit, and the following bag of lettuce. "Abby think of this," he waved dismissively at the non-junk food, "too?"

"Wanted to make sure I had something 'edible,' as she put it," Gibbs murmured.

"And this is it?" Tony's doubt grew.

"Thought you might go for something bland right now." Gibbs had deferred to Abby's paranoia, but he'd taken his own precautions, as Tony's hyper-acute senses, over-active taste and all, didn't seem to be holding him back when it came to food.

It was truly laugh-worthy the way Tony's fears were visibly calmed at the sight of two frozen pizzas and a bag of nacho cheese flavored Doritos.

Tony gave a satisfied sigh. "That's more like it…"

Gibbs figured now was as good a time as any to address a subject he knew needed addressing—and knew Tony was going to avoid at all costs. Gibbs wasn't exactly excited about it himself, but he wanted to take advantage of the fact that at the moment he had something to occupy himself with (as apposed to sitting or standing around looking awkward, and making a point of having an official "talk"), and he also had his back to Tony, which meant there was the faintest hope Tony wouldn't feel cornered, and might, just might, not balk. Gibbs knew _he_ sure wanted to.

"You doing all right with this stuff, DiNozzo?" It was a general question, more a matter of taking stock of someone who worked under him than something meant to prompt an in-depth heart-to-heart. Or, at least, that's the way Gibbs tried to make it sound. Concern always had a way of creeping in when it came to "his" people, and he didn't do much to try to keep it out.

Tony sounded edgy, but covered it with a casual air. "Oh, you know how it is, Boss." Gibbs "heard" him shrug. "Freaky, mutant abilities… Everyday stuff. On Star Trek. Or if you're Wolverine…"

Gibbs overlooked the sarcasm. "Found out who your Guide is?" Amazing, a day or two ago just saying the word would've made Gibbs cringe inwardly. Well, he still did hesitate over it a little. But there was something that felt right about it, or at least, not utterly and completely weird. Next thing he knew, he'd be sending in his own Nessy sighting testimonial. He didn't think this Sentinel business would ever feel completely normal, but, oddly enough, it didn't feel _unnatural_.

Tony didn't seem to share his sentiments. "Guide? Uh…why would I _want_ to know?" He snorted derisively.

"Treat it like a joke and Abby'll be on your case," Gibbs warned with deceptive indifference. He didn't think he had to add that he would be on Tony's case as well.

Tony knew it, all right. His slip-shod attempt at flippancy slipped a little more. "Ah, c'mon, Boss. I'm really happy for Ellison and Sandburg, that it's all worked out so picture-perfect for them, and all… But honestly, where d'you expect me to pick up a Guide? Ebay?"

Gibbs ran out of groceries to unpack, and turned by default to brewing a fresh pot of coffee. It was only what….seven o'clock? He decided not to respond to Tony, in the off chance he might actually fill the silence.

The façade slipped yet further, leaving Tony sounding about as vulnerable as Gibbs could remember him being since the time he'd been locked up for murder. The phrasing, though, remained supposedly casual. "Well, actually, I did think about it…for a minute or two." His laugh fell flat.

"And?"

"And what?"

Gibbs glanced at Tony. "And who is it?"

"My Guide?" Tony blinked. "Oh, I don't think I have one." He shrugged again. "It was probably supposed to be my brother, but seeing as how I was an _only_ _child_, and said brother never existed... Well, that does present a rather insurmountable problem, huh?" He grinned proudly at his impeccable theory. "Such is life."

Gibbs turned back to measuring out the coffee, and growled, "'Course you have a Guide, DiNozzo."

"But my _brother_—"

"Sandburg's been right about everything else so far, and I'm inclined to agree with him on this, too."

"That's great, Boss, but I don't have—"

"He thinks it's me." All imaginable puttering at an end, Gibbs turned, leaning one elbow on the counter.

"You mean, he thinks you're a…Guide? My Guide?" There was an odd mixture of terror and longing in his tone. Like he wanted to believe it, maybe even it _had _occurred to him, but didn't quite dare take the idea seriously.

"How clear do I have to make things tonight, DiNozzo? For a lead agent, you're making me repeat myself far too many times."

"Sorry, Boss, but I just thought you said—"

"You obviously don't have anyone else in mind." Gibbs plowed on before Tony could fit in another "boss," "Besides, from all descriptions, I pretty much have the role down."

"Really? Because, to me, it sure sounded like Sandburg was laying on a whole lot of complicated mumbo-jumbo… It sounds like a lot of work."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "Sounded simple enough to me. Keep you in line. Watch your back. Don't let you go and get yourself killed." He turned back to the coffee machine, which was rumbling and gurgling as a sign of its near-readiness. "Simple."

"It's not that I don't think you're capable, or trust you, or—"

"Good." Gibbs poured himself a cup full of fresh coffee. "Now, are you going to set that thing up already?" He nodded towards the abandoned white noise generator. "Abby said she'd stop by later, and I'm sure she'll set it up if you don't."

"Yeah, Boss, I'm on it…"

Gibbs took a sip of his coffee, and watched Tony's retreat. He looked dazed. Poor kid. He'd get over it, and get with it. Maybe, eventually, Gibbs would too.

**************ooo**

TBC

A/N: I am so, so, SO sorry I've been belated in getting this chapter up. More sickness at our house (hasn't hit me…yet, but my bro's been really bad off), too many story ideas in my head (NCIS ideas, to be precise *g*), yadda yadda… But I should've posted sooner; you have my humble apologies. *pleads for mercy* Thanks so much all, and specifically to my anonymous reviewers: Gold Berry, Dani, anonymous, and diana teo!

I'm purposing to have the next chapter up more swiftly. Pokes are welcome, though. Lol.


	10. Chapter 10

***

**Chapter 10**

***

"To-_ny_."

McGee knew that particular tone, coming from Abby, although not to be feared, _was_ to be heeded.

Tony obviously knew it too, and started to attention with a, "What?"

They were in the lunch room: Ziva, Abby, Tony, and himself. McGee was most of the way through his own lunch, with Ziva and Abby not far behind. Tony had joined them at their table a few minutes ago, with the news that, apparently, Gibbs was going to be late for their already late lunch break. Not an unusual arrangement. Gibbs could practically live on coffee, and McGee had noted his boss had had a fresh cup in hand when they left, so it was likely "late" would wind up turning into never.

Apparently, today Tony had decided to mimic Gibbs in even the small detail of eating. Or, rather, not eating, but drinking. Tony had brought with him a Styrofoam cup of coffee, and seemed to be quite content with nursing it for the duration of his "meal."

Abby frowned her disapproval at Tony, setting her half-eaten apple down in her lunchbox to fold her arms on the table. "What are you doing?"

Tony's eyes darted from side to side in an exaggerated expression of consideration. One always at least pretended to take no-duh questions from Abby seriously. Sometimes the obvious answer wasn't the correct one according to _her_, and sometimes there simply _wasn't_ a correct answer. In either case, being cocky was a bad stratagem. McGee knew from experience. Tony, favorite and spoiled child that he was (spoiled, at the moment, more than usual), could get away with more than he'd ever be able to, but even he knew the rules and occasionally abided by them.

Tony took a sip and shrugged. He hazarded, "Uh…having lunch with you guys?"

Abby shook her head. "No. _We_ are having lunch; _you_ are having caffeine."

It was more than a bit hypocritical for Abby to point fingers at anyone's caffeine consumption, but anything that could be misconstrued as disapproval of Caff-Pow was out of the question.

Tony toasted them with his cup. "All hail the nectar of the gods." His smirk broadened. "Or should I say the nectar of the Gibbs?"

"By the time you're finished putting all that sugar in it, it's just plain _nectar_." Ziva grimaced.

"It's not healthy," Abby concluded authoritatively. "You did bring something to eat, didn't you?"

"Well yeah…"

Abby was up, and moving towards the fridge in a moment. After a quick reconnaissance, she returned in triumph with a brown paper bag, which she plopped down in front of Tony.

"How did you know which one was mine?" Tony didn't make a move to open it.

"You always crumple the bag up hopelessly," Abby said, with more than a hint of pride in her observation. "Honestly, what do you do to it between home and here—play football with it? If you want your food to be edible, you could invest in some kind of a lunchbox…" She leaned forward as if to open the bag for him, since he didn't seem to be inclined to take the initiative.

Tony snatched it up first. "Hey. I think I can manage."

Abby picked her apple back up. "Then do it."

"Geez, impatient much, Abbs?" Tony complained with mock irritation, as he obeyed, opening the bag and withdrawing a Ziploc bag with a sandwich inside. He opened his mouth to take a bite, then closed it again to glare meaningfully at the other occupants of the table. "Guys, keep staring and I'll start charging ya admission to watch the DiNozzo eat."

"Well it's a rare sight these days," Abby retorted, but returned to paying her own food more attention.

McGee followed suit, and Ziva wadded up the plastic wrap, now empty of everything but crumbs. But McGee knew he wasn't the only one watching out of the corner of his eye. Hey, it wasn't like he was actually all that worried about Tony skipping out on a meal or two. Well, of course he cared, but the point was Gibbs would probably ask later. He could be rather endearingly conscientious about making sure all of them took the time to eat. McGee cringed inwardly. "Endearing" was _so_ not a word he'd ever want Gibbs to know he was thinking in the same context as him…

In a second, Tony was transformed from an attitude of indolent thoughtfulness, as he chewed on his first bite, into one of wide-eyed panic. He made a startled choking nose, hand automatically shooting out to grab the nearest beverage—his coffee. The hot liquid obviously made it worse, as was testified by his pained expression.

"Tony?" Abby's face mirrored his panic, but she was quick to grab her own can of pop and offer it to him.

Tony shook his head, eyes watering, and gasped, "Water."

Abby grabbed Ziva's bottle of water—Ziva didn't complain—quickly twisting the top off and thrusting it into Tony's hand.

Tony drank the entire thing in one go, tilting his head back and inhaling it greedily. He finally set it down, it empty, and him gasping for breath.

"Tony, what is it?" Abby's eyes were round in concern as she leaned over to put a hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Woah." A gasp from Tony. "Man." Another gasp.

"_Tony_," Abby pressed.

"I so do _not_ remember putting pepper jack cheese, jalapeño peppers, and Dijon mustered on my turkey sandwich…" Tony stared at his meal as if it'd turned sentient and bit _him_.

The not-so-subtle sound of someone trying to hold in laughter, and snorting instead, could be heard behind them.

Hank Forester, prankster extraordinaire, legend of the building—Tony's match any day—stood, leaning against the sink with his trade-mark Red Bull beverage in one hand, and a sub in the other. His ever-present buddy and partner in crime slouched nearby with a smirk to mirror his brave leader.

By now, Tony would usually be in Hank's face, witty repartee flowing easily off the tip of tongue, and revenge on the brain. Instead, he sat in a hunched-over position, looking self-conscious and a little sick.

Abby was at his side. "Tony? Are you all right?"

Tony, looking as if he was barely winning the battle against nausea, offered a feeble smile that was obviously only an autopilot response. However, although he was breathing rather heavily, he seemed mostly mortified and miserable as he recovered from the aftermath. McGee wondered how high Tony had had the dials turned up. Maybe his sense of taste had unconsciously been tuned up in anticipation of some real food after a one marathon of paper-work filled morning. Then, when instead of plain ol' lunch meat and bread, his taste buds had received jalepnos, pepper-jack, and Dijon… McGee cringed at the thought. If it'd been him, he _would_ be throwing up now.

McGee also wondered, given Tony's current state of huddled misery, if he'd even heard Hank, or connected the dots. He felt acutely aware of Forester, himself.

_Wait. Look before you leap. Be rational. Don't pick on the playground bully. _That was the way the way he worked. Though he didn't consider himself as brave as the rest of the team, McGee didn't think he was actually a _coward_. He'd simply always considered self-preservation to be a good idea, and anger management had never been his biggest problem.

Tony was a different story. Despite his devil-may-care attitude, McGee had seen Tony jump to the defense of his teammates before. He'd never forget the late-night confession Tony had made during that nightmare investigation when McGee had been accused of killing an undercover cop unnecessarily. The confession had been an embarrassing one for Tony, and yeah, he'd come right back with a flippant remark about killing McGee if he told anyone else. But being willing to embarrass himself in front of McGee—in front of the "_probie"?_ Well, it'd shown McGee the lengths to which Tony would go just to cheer him up. Following that with Tony's unwavering belief in McGee's story had definitely been a turning point in how McGee looked at Tony.

And the picture McGee had of Tony never involved him being in a place where he acknowledged needing defending from anyone. Until now. Hank and Miles—Forester's horizontally challenged minion—were talking more loudly than was necessary, and laughing—not about Tony, _of course_. McGee felt heat spread up the side of his neck, and realized that not only were his fists clenched, but he was pushing back his chair, standing, and glaring…at Hank.

The question "What on earth am I doing?" did flash through his mind, but only briefly. And then he was standing in front of Hank, taking a ridiculous amount of reassurance in the fact that Abby had joined in him his attack. Ziva, he noted, was utilizing her own brand of intimidation by circling around on his other side, supposedly with the intent of snagging a fresh cup of coffee. Her dark eyes were glued on their two objects of prey with a deceptive coolness and ease of manner.

Hank, probably wisely, chose McGee to focus on. "Agent McGee."

"Agent Forester." McGee thought he sounded confident enough, even bold. He certainly felt like he could've punched the guy at the moment, regardless of consequences. Hadn't Gibbs' rule number eighteen been something about asking forgiveness later, instead of permission to begin with? He could do something hot-headed now, make excuses later. Gibbs would understand. Forester might not have had a clue, but the fact remained, he'd just hit Tony when he was, figuratively, already down.

Abby shared his feelings, and then some.

Hank Forester might very well have just met his own personal Grim Reaper, black regalia of a slightly unconventional style and absent scythe regardless.

McGee hadn't even concluded on a fitting approach—one that wouldn't reveal Tony's secret—before Abby had placed herself in Hank's personal space, and pointed a finger directly at his nose.

"Tony is _allergic_ to jalapeños, you idiot."

Forester didn't even get out a stammer.

Abby's finger jerked emphatically closer. "You _idiot_, he could've had a seizure! He could in the hospital right now, because you had the _brilliant_ idea to try pulling a juvenile and completely irresponsible prank on a co-worker."

"Miss Scu—"

"Oh, yes, be polite now. Stick random things—like _peppers_—in peoples' sandwiches later. This could easily be a lawsuit, _Mister_."

Man, Abby was going to be one nightmare of a wicked old lady some day… McGee enjoyed the show thoroughly.

Ziva, who'd casually been strolling in closer, until her proximity to Forester and Miles was undeniably trespassing on personal space, spoke up softly, "Oh, I do not think a lawsuit will be necessary, Abby."

Abby shot Hanks her infamous pout, and death glare, wrapped up into one. The pout was probably aimed at Ziva for her interruption, the glare a sign of her restrained blood lust for a certain practical joker.

Ziva wasn't done, however. Her voice was almost a purr. Never a good sign. "If Agent Forester's more unprofessional behavior is made public, I do not think we will have the time to sue him, hmm?"

It only took Abby a moment to catch on. "Gibbs." She said his name with gleeful spite, and followed it up smugly with, "He'll kill you if he finds out."

Forester finally got a haughty laugh in. "You know, you guys really are a hoot. You're great. Very, very good tactics. I'm sure you get criminals shaking in their boots." He looked around Abby, and called out, "Hey, DiNozzo, you gonna join your little posse here, or what?"

McGee glanced over, and saw Tony, who looked a little more like himself, but was apparently only mildly interested in where his friends had so hastily gone off to as he sipped gingerly at Abby's pop. He ignored Hank entirely.

Hank laughed again. "You guys really don't know how to take a joke, do you?"

Abby looked almost cheerful. "Oh, we're all just a little upset, Mr. Forester. Just a little. The Bossman…" She shook her head. "He doesn't _do_ a 'little' angry." To illustrate, Abby made a dramatic slicing motion with her hand across her throat.

Miles, The Short and Silent, finally found his tongue, "You know, I hate to break up the party, but my lunch break is like, way, way over, and—"

Ziva "patted" his shoulder, and didn't remove her hand. "Miles—it is Miles, no?"

Miles' smile quaked. "Yeah."

"_Miles_," Ziva resumed, voice full of warmth. A reptilian kind of warmth. "We are all friends here, are we not? What you did to Tony—nearly giving him a seizure—it was, as they say, all fun and games?"

"Yeah, and it's all fun and games until some gets _hurt_." Abby snapped her teeth together on the last word, like an alligator closing its jaws.

"Someone got hurt, Abbs?"

"Gibbs!" Unlike the rest of them, McGee had never heard Abby sound guilty in her surprise over Gibbs' unanticipated and arrivals.

McGee could see Gibbs'eyes rove over the "crime scene," taking in a sheepishly cowed and still-pale Tony—discarded meal in front of him, along with a collection of depleted beverages. And the rest of them: his team, plus two uneasy outsiders at the center of the mob. Gibbs might not have gotten the whole picture, but he got enough.

Instinctively, McGee and Abby, and even Ziva, parted and partially dispersed as Gibbs approached. Gibbs smiled cordially at the two prime suspects. To the casual observer, Gibbs would have seemed friendly enough. There were no casual observers around, however, due to the late hour of Gibbs' team's "lunch" break (Forester had doubtless stuck around to see the results of his handiwork). McGee thought that fact placed them, Team Gibbs, rather at an advantage. Ziva prowling in the background, and Gibbs smiling pleasantly in the fore… And, of course, Miss leave-no-evidence Sciuto scowling not far away.

Forester cleared his throat. "Special Agent Gibbs… Just getting to know your team a little better."

"Yeah, I can see that." Gibbs glanced from Abby to McGee in not-disapproving acknowledgment. "They weren't giving you any trouble, where they?"

"Well, they were getting a little…intense," Miles piped up. He was obviously naively buying into the sympathetic Gibbs idea.

Gibbs made a considering noise. "Yeah, they get that way sometimes."

"Look, we're all professionals here—"

Abby interposed in a not-so-quiet mutter, "Some more than others…"

Forester ignored her. "—still, pranks will get out of hand sometimes." He shrugged. "But hey, no harm, no foul, right?"

Gibbs stared hard at him, not agreeing or disagreeing.

Forester squirmed. Miles was looking nearly as queasy as Tony.

Gibbs titled his head back, and slightly to the side. "If my team gets too 'intense' again, you let me know." Forester let his posture relax too soon, as Gibbs added with a hint of something sinister, "I'll make sure _they_ don't tear you to pieces."

Forester and Miles left with a minimum of response. Though Forester did try to maintain some face and show of bravado, the odds weren't in his favor.

By unanimous, unspoken consent, the rest of them reseated themselves at their original table, Gibbs taking a prime position opposite Tony. Gibbs didn't need to ask what happened; Abby was talking before she'd reached her chair.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at some of the opening adjectives she used for Forester, but only channeled the direction of her ranting by asking calmly, "What happened?"

Tony didn't appear willing, but Abby made up for it, pouncing on the open invitation.

"That _slime_ Forester put all kinds of spicy things in Tony's sandwich—"

"Abbs," Tony spoke up at last, sounding weary. "It was a joke."

"A joke—a _joke_?" Abby spluttered indignantly.

"Yeah. Not funny on my end, but a joke all the same." The way Tony's lips formed a lopsided smile didn't negate the flatness of his tone. "I get my kicks on boring afternoons the same way, ya know. Slipping peppers into someone's sandwich isn't actually all that original, either…"

"Don't defend his actions, Tony," Abby censored sternly. "Just because he didn't know the effect it would have doesn't excuse his actions."

"Doesn't it?" Tony drawled.

"Nope."

They all looked at Gibbs, who smiled. He was getting the full picture now. First, he addressed Tony, "You all right, DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, Boss. I don't think I'll ever be able to face a turkey sandwich again, but I'm good."

Abby had explained her bland foods theory to McGee, and how she'd "forced" Gibbs to buy a list of self-recommended items at the grocery store. McGee was thinking now that perhaps Abby had been right on in her intuition.

Gibbs had a considering look on his face. "Ziva."

Ziva brightened. "Yes?"

"No maiming."

She pursed her lips disappointedly. "Of course not."

Gibbs glanced around at them, lingering on Abby. "No death threats."

There was an echo of "of course not"s around the table.

Gibbs nodded in satisfaction.

No maiming. No death threats. It was limiting, and it definitely put a crimp in their style, but they weren't insurmountable parameters. Ziva's disappointment had already given way to a thoughtful expression, and Abby definitely had schemes formulating in that ingenious mind of hers.

McGee ventured, "Anything else off limits, Boss?"

While he was talking Gibbs had, McGee noted, snagged a bottle from the center of the table. Now McGee realized that it was not the salt, or pepper, but a pocket-sized Tabasco sauce. Gibbs set it down with emphatic force, and replied with a twinkle in his eyes, "Nope."

***

A/N: Yay, for team bonding? =)

Okay, I feel like I should give you guys sort of a heads-up. Almost wrapping up the story, here… I know some of you were looking forward to Tony getting to be really proficient in using his "superpowers," and I'm sorry to say we don't get to see much of that. Yet. One more chapter after this, then an epilogue for (hopefully) a feeling of completion. _But,_ that said, I have so many ideas buzzing around in my head, you wouldn't believe it. *g* I'm already, let's see…over 15,000 words into a sequel to this (and I have some shorter follow-up pieces I should be able to post much sooner). I've actually got ideas for a sequel to the sequel to this… Y'all will definitely get to see lots of Tony when he's more experienced in using his new abilities. So many ideas, so little time. Lol. Unfortunately (or…fortunately?), another NCIS x-over has dominated me for the past few weeks as well, temporarily diverting my writing attention. =P If you guys are interested, I could post some summaries/short teaser snippets in my bio, for both the sequel to this, and the other x-over. ;) I'm having a lot of fun with both of 'em, but it's hard to juggle them simultaneously.

I'm also hoping to have the music video I made for this fic finished soon. =)

Thanks so much for reviewing, everyone! Your comments really keep me going. I appreciate those anonymous reviews very much: Gold Berry, Dani, Phoenix414, Verdad y Vida, jac marcus, and richefic.


	11. Chapter 11

***

**Chapter 11**

Gibbs really wasn't looking forward to the end of the week. Three more days—only _three_—and Sandburg and Ellison would return home. He hated admitting it (and he wasn't admitting it to anyone but himself), but he'd been taking more than a little security in the fact that Ellison knew firsthand what Tony was going through, and Sandburg was an expert on knowing what to do when things went wrong. The kid's intuition was uncanny when it came to this Sentinel business. Tony had marveled over it in private to Gibbs on several occasions, along the lines of, "I guess the guy really does know what he's talking about, Boss. Mumbo-jumbo or not…"

Another thing Gibbs would never admit was that Tony's growing appreciation for, and gratitude to, Sandburg irritated him. Sometimes, for all he owed Sandburg, he found himself resisting the urge to snap at him. The urge was declining now, however, and his irritation with _himself_ increasing. It was becoming more and more apparent that, for all his esteem for Sandburg's knowledge, Tony still ultimately looked to Gibbs to make this right. No…"make this right" didn't describe what Gibbs' job was now. Make this work, was more like it. Make it so that Tony didn't zone out and get himself run over while crossing a street on a simple coffee run.

Yeah, Gibbs _would_ admit that: this was setting him on edge. But Tony? Nope. Tony gradually seemed to be coming to terms with all this. For all his bewilderment over Gibbs' matter-of-fact treatment of offering to be his Guide, Tony seemed at ease with the idea now. He actually seemed pleased about it, in a mildly embarrassed way, and eager to learn from Sandburg—and above all, utterly confident in his boss's ability to learn his own role as Guide. Ziva and McGee were a little surprised at the concept, but actually took it very much in stride. And, odd though the whole thing was, they were confident in _him_. Abby had been thrilled and supportive, and Ducky had nodded with a smile, and an approving, "Yes indeed, Jethro. I do believe you're right."

But was he? It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. It still did, in theory. After all, who else would he trust to watch DiNozzo's back? But this wasn't just watching his back, or knowing when to offer a gruff word of approval, or an admonishing head-slap. This was knowing how to help him through stuff neither of them entirely understood. It meant Gibbs had better learn to understand, or, at the very least, Tony would suffer a lot of needless pain while he tried to get his act together. At worst, he could get him killed.

Gibbs _really_ wasn't looking forward to the end of the week. It meant Tony would be depending on him instead of Sandburg, and right now Gibbs felt grossly ill-equipped. Being ill-equipped to back up a fellow agent, much less one of the people under his command, was unacceptable.

Hence all the practice runs. Gibbs urged them, Sandburg enthused over them, Ellison cooperated, and Tony worked as hard, and with as much focus as Gibbs had ever seen him show.

The park, or Gibbs' house, seemed to be their primary training grounds, and today they'd chosen the wide open spaces. Gibbs was impressed with the number of times Abby had risked getting a sunburn to tag along on their outings. The fascination of it all, combined with her more potent concern for Tony, must've simply been too much motivation for her to stand against. Today, however, she'd had to focus on catching up on some lab work, and her cheerful presence was notably absent.

However, Tony would have quite the progress report to hand to his surrogate mother hen/protective sister. He'd been passing Sandburg's "experiments" with flying colors. The focus today had been on using his sense of smell, which he seemed to be grasping fairly quickly.

Sandburg was currently beaming with pride. "You're really doing great, Tony. You're doing _awesome_. It hasn't even been a week, man, and look at all the progress you've made."

Tony looked pleased as well, but not entirely in accord with the anthropologist's pronouncement. "Yeah. I only zone…like, _once_ a day, now. Look at me go."

That really deserved a head-slap, and Gibbs wasn't sparing, but it was only partially a check on his sarcasm, and more importantly meant as encouragement.

Tony flinched happily under the reproof, and whined, "Geez, Boss, it's not fair. I get head-slapped if I'm negative, I get head-slapped if I'm too cheerful, I get head-slapped if I zone…" He shot Sandburg a look of reproach. "You just had to tell him his 'unconventional methods' were 'effective', didn't you?"

Blair shrugged, smiling unapologetically. He still often showed signs of bewilderment while witnessing their peculiar brand of friendship, but he at least was beginning to recognize their way of relating as being of a fonder nature than it appeared at first glance.

"You looking for _fairness_, DiNozzo?" Gibbs drawled.

Tony knew the right response. "Not me, Boss."

"Well you've at least earned a break. Hotdogs?" Blair suggested.

Jim brightened considerably at the prospect, but Gibbs noted Tony's lack of usual enthusiasm over mention one of his favorite food groups.

"Tony?" Gibbs prodded.

"Ah…I don't really feel like it, Boss. You guys go ahead though." Under Gibbs' critical look, Tony elaborated, "Just caught a whiff of jalapeño while I was doing that last test. I think it was from the stand—must offer 'em as a topping. And, of course, there's mustard…" He made a face. "Not terribly appetizing."

Blair clenched his jaw. "Honestly, I'd like to give that Forester guy a piece of my mind…"

Abby had shared the saga with Sandburg, and both of them had shared their indignation. Seeing Sandburg take Forester's juvenile action—and it had been an obvious one, at that—as a personal offence had definitely eased some of the tension Gibbs had been feeling towards the younger man.

Tony chuckled. "Oh, believe me, Abby and everyone else shared enough of theirs with the jerk." He gestured to the hotdog stand as they approached. "Really, don't let me stop you guys."

Gibbs took charge—and ordered four hotdogs. He handed Tony his, with a look that dared him to protest.

Tony did so anyways. "Boss, really, I don't think I can stomach anything right now."

"Eat."

Tony was really looking green as he eyed the food. Just when pity was starting to win, but before Gibbs could say anything, Tony took a large bite, apparently hoping to get it over with in three bites. A split second later, he looked like he was struggling not to gag or spit it back out.

Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Gibbs cringed inwardly, regretting the heavy-handedness too late. But making sure his agents ate enough was, in its small way, one of the everyday ways Gibbs tried to show he cared about the welfare of his team. He wasn't always the best with words, but buying a pizza—yeah, that was something he could do. With DiNozzo, for all the younger agent's love of food, when the kid got distracted he often forgot those bothersome necessity of life things, i.e. eating and sleeping.

Right now, however, Gibbs felt not only inadequate to the situation, but also afraid of compounding the situation he'd created by having the gall to turn around and try fixing it. Automatically, he looked for aid to Sandburg, who he realized had been glancing expectantly at _him_.

But Sandburg was ready for every emergency, as always, and stepped into the gap Gibbs' momentary hesitation created. He gripped Tony's shoulder, and urged, "Dial smell and taste way down, man—way down." He smiled ruefully. "I'm really sorry, Tony, should've made sure things had settled down after all the training we've been doing today."

Tony shook his head in the universally understood gesture of wide-eyed desperation that signified that, if he wasn't choking or throwing up now, one option or the other was soon going to have to happen.

"Easy, Tony," Blair continued soothingly. "Just ignore the taste and swallow it."

Tony managed to get it down, gagging afterwards with a grimace. Gulping in air, he shuddered, and moaned, "I've gotta stop doing that."

Finally, Tony got it under control, returning to what was steadily becoming his habitual post Sentinel-related crisis expression. Sheepish. Annoyed. Frustrated with himself. And, again, _sheepish_. "I guess I'm just a little sensitive about food right now. Apparently taste got turned up along with smell." He laughed self-derogatorily. "I don't know what I'm expecting the food to _do_… Just turn spicy?"

"Hey, it's understandable," Blair reassured.

"Been there, done that," Jim sympathized. "Only it was spoiled milk for me."

Tony cringed. "Ouch. How did that happen?"

Blair laughed nervously. "Story for another time. How're you doing now?"

Tony eyed the hotdog in his hand. "Eh, fine…"

"Abby made me buy all that salad; someone better eat it," Gibbs ordered/suggested gruffly. He had, after all, just displayed doubly how out of his depth he was with this. He'd frozen on Tony, letting Sandburg be the one to jump into action. He expected at least a little reproach from Tony, but got rueful good humor instead, and a buoyant cheerfulness.

"Yeah, salad actual sounds almost edible, Boss." Tony snorted incredulously. "Look at me, I'm gonna turn into a health food nut, or something."

Jim gave him a clap on the back. "No worries. It'll pass."

They turned their footsteps towards home, and Gibbs sighed inwardly. He was beginning to think Tony would really be better off not trusting him so unconditionally in this instance.

Sandburg fell into step with Gibbs, as, in front of them, the two Sentinels did some bonding over junk-food talk.

Blair said quietly, "You'll get it, man. Tony knows you're there for him, and you are, that's what counts. He's got to learn a lot, and so do you. It's no piece of cake being a Sentinel, but neither is being a Guide."

Gibbs tried not to let doubts haunt him. He preferred facing them head on. "Sandburg, if I'm not cut out for this, I need to face it—and find someone who is qualified."

Blair smiled. "Oh, you're cut out for it, no doubt."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"You care about him, and you know what he needs. It's just a matter of getting your own inhibitions out of the way."

"There's one other thing I've been wanting to talk to you about."

"Yeah?" Blair glanced at him expectantly.

Gibbs kept his face a blank. "I've been having the urge to strangle you a lot lately."

"Well, that's not actually all that unusual…" Blair's laugh was strained. "Seriously, though it's probably some sort of Guide-to-Guide tension, and feeling instinctively protective of 'your' Sentinel. The same thing works the other way around, too, with the Sentinels getting kinda territorial over 'their' Guides sometimes."

"Hmm… That would explain it." Gibbs glanced sideways at him through narrowed eyes.

"And not giving in to the urge to strangle, that's an inhibition you need to _keep_, man."

***

Gibbs sank unto the couch, handing Tony his requested bottle of water, and taking a drink from his own can of pop. He watched passively, save for a few grunts and murmurs in response to Tony's running commentary on the current program displayed on the TV screen. Gibbs wasn't even aware of what the program was. He was intent on studying the younger man, even as he explained the finer points of…whatever it was he was going on about. The word "classic" was being used liberally, but Gibbs didn't recognize anyone on-screen at a glance. Which wasn't saying much.

What Gibbs did know something about was Tony's behavior. Sure, it could look rather self-explanatory to the casual observer (either that or monumentally and hopelessly bewildering and contradictory), but Gibbs liked to think he'd learned a thing or two about reading Tony.

Right now, for instance, Tony's babbling wasn't the nonsensical babble of a Tony that was taking the current lull in work-related activity to revisit his childhood and indulge in unabashed enjoyment of television. Instead, Gibbs was becoming more and more convinced that this was the babbling of a Tony that was steadily becoming overwhelmed by the changes facing him, and was reverting by default to his simplest and easiest façade. Tony the self-admittedly juvenile movie fanatic was not all an act. Right now, however, it was certainly part of a failing cover-up for deeper issues.

The direct approach was always good, and necessary where an evasive Tony was concerned, but too much directness would only send him deeper into hiding. Thankfully, Gibbs was practiced at sounding casual. "You sure you're all right, Tony?"

Tony raised both eyebrows in an expression that tried unsuccessfully to express complete and absolute surprise that Gibbs felt it necessary to even ask. Why, in fact, would he be anything _but_ all right? Was there some reason why he wouldn't be all right?

Gibbs humored him. "The hotdog incident."

Tony deserved the reminder for his insistence in attempting obliviousness. He scrunched his face up, but kept his eyes glued to the TV. "Oh, ah. I'd really rather not think about it…"

"Salad." Gibbs left if to Tony to decide whether it was an accusation, question, or order.

Tony seemed to have some trouble deciding, hemming and hawing, before smoothly covering all his bases with, "Yeah, forgot…not really hungry."

Gibbs sighed inwardly—something he was doing with more frequency, and most often in regards to Tony, of late. Gibbs was feeling about as close to pliable and lenient as he ever got after the fiasco of the afternoon. But, Tony was still going to have to eat enough to support life, and ever since the hijacked sandwich, Gibbs had sensed a lack of the usual gusto in Tony, even when it came to things like pizza. Yeah, it worried him—and yeah, if his being a _Guide_ gave him a good excuse to be a little more openly paranoid than he might usually allow himself to be, then he'd take that excuse.

Ordering Tony to buck up and eat something already probably wasn't his best course of action, though something of the sort, if perhaps not of the precise wording, was hovering on the edge of his mind. Besides, there was no need to revert to techniques that would have horrified Sandburg. Not yet anyways. He had a few tried-and-true methods left.

Gibbs watched the Lone Ranger gallop across the screen for a few minutes, before stating, "I could've reacted faster."

Tony didn't brush him off. Quite to the contrary. He covered his taken aback reaction quickly, but it had been there alright.

"I should have reacted faster," Gibbs continued, forcing each word out precisely, and firmly. Sounding convicted wasn't hard.

Tony squirmed, and tried to feign distraction via the TV. Gibbs could see easily enough that an apology was not what he wanted to hear. Too bad.

"I can't expect you to get used to all this if I can't. And if I can't be there to back you up, I shouldn't be asking you to count on me."

"Yeah, well, speaking of…all that."

A poorly executed retreat from the topic on Tony's part. Or at least a change in the direction the topic took. To Gibbs it seemed more as if Tony were too preoccupied with getting whatever was on his mind out, than as if he were deliberately trying to keep Gibbs from further apologizing.

That wasn't all, though, that had Gibbs shooting gauging looks in Tony's direction. They weren't exactly pros in their knowledge of this Sentinel business, but they did at least know what to call it now, and "all that" was not it. Gibbs understood Tony's need to treat the situation flippantly. He realized an excess of jokes and a devil-may-care attitude usually meant the subject _did_ mean something to Tony. That didn't mean Gibbs condoned it, especially when the problem threatened Tony's life, whether or not Tony chose to acknowledge it. If there was one thing Tony needed, it was for someone to take his problems more seriously than he allowed himself to.

"Hmm?" While trying to keep it casual, he wasn't going to let Tony back down from the conversation altogether.

"It's just this—" Tony cut himself off with a grunt that sounded self-disgusted. He tried a new opening. "Boss, I really do appreciate the time and effort you, and Ducky, and Abby, and everyone, have put into helping me out with this. I mean," he laughed, "talk about going above and beyond the call of duty for a co-worker."

The kid really didn't get it, did he? He couldn't differentiate family concern from a work-related act of goodwill. Gibbs kept his mouth shut, since he wanted Tony to get to the bottom of whatever he was trying to say. He had a good guess what that might be.

"I mean, you guys even went to bat with the director over this, and even she agreed to give me a chance, which is definitely touching." He grinned, not looking at Gibbs, still pretending his interest was wrapped up in the TV. "But you know, eventually, there's only so many second chances you can give one person." His grin widened. "Even if said person is brilliant and undeniably hard to replace."

"You giving up on me as a Guide, DiNozzo?"

Tony's head jerked away sideways, TV-watching pretence a lost cause. "Of course not, I—"

Gibbs' raised eyebrow challenged him to finish.

"_Boss_." Tony's tone said he was grateful for the attempt Gibbs was making to place himself with as much blame as Tony for any failure. However, it also said that Tony was certain that Gibbs wasn't in any way to blame, and that he wasn't so naive he didn't realize Gibbs was only trying to make him feel like less of a _complete_ and _utter_ lost cause. Though he didn't come right out and say it in so many words, Gibbs could read between the lines: _"Thanks, boss—but get real."_

"By 'brilliant and undeniably hard to replace,' I didn't mean you." Tony stopped with a wince. "Not that you're _not_, Boss."

Tony was meriting more than one head slap in a surprisingly short space of time—even for him. He'd get his full quota too, later.

"Boss, what I mean is…"

"I know what you mean, DiNozzo."

"I just thought it might be a good idea to reconsider—"

"You can un-consider it as of now."

"But what if the _director_ wants to reconsider—"

"She doesn't yet, and if she does, you leave that to me."

Tony looked like he was trying to come up with another "but" or "what if." Gibbs had heard all he needed to hear, though. Sometimes Tony was the only thing that stood in Tony's own way. "So you had some trouble, and I wasn't fast enough. You ready to move on already?"

Tony was obviously carrying the weight of a hundred real and imagined failures as a Sentinel, and the occasional pep talk wasn't going to make him grin and shrug it all off. However, Gibbs did like to imagine that the surprise he saw in the other man was the beginning of comprehension. _You're not a failed experiment yet, kid. Not by a long-shot. _

"Yeah, Boss, I'm ready."

***

Hi everyone! *waves* This is actually _not _Sweet Anonymity, here. I'm her sister, Imbecamiel, aka Cami. So why am I here instead of her? Well, she wanted to update earlier, but things got kind of crazy, so she didn't have a chance. And now, as I type, she is having her wisdom teeth removed. But her last thought, even as she went to meet her fate, was of you, her beloved readers! Should she fail to make it, she still wished to ensure that you received this chapter in a timely manner. Thus - my role. *bows*

On a more serious note - the next part will be up as soon as she's feeling better. Or when she asks me to put it up, should it take her longer than expected to recover. Her body's been known to have a pretty rough time with even supposedly minor surgeries.

Many thanks to anonymous reviewers Verdad y Vida, diana teo, Dani, and Random Flyer (hope I got everyone!). And thanks to all you other reviewers, too! Seriously, you all don't get to see firsthand just how encouraged and energized your reviews get her, but I do. And I can certainly attest that they've got her writing like crazy! You've got some very fun stories to look forward to, coming up. :)


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_A few weeks later_

**********ooo**

Panicking just wasn't an option. Not in Gibbs' book. Now adrenaline, on the other hand, was often a necessity, as today had proven. He very much doubted that any of them, himself included, would currently even be able to stay upright in their seats without some remnants still pumping through their veins.

The coffee also didn't hurt. It wasn't as bad as Gibbs had been expecting, either, when McGee had volunteered to go get them all some caffeine. Gibbs had vague recollections of a jittery McGee saying something about finding one of those specialty coffee machines. Surprisingly, it yielded a pretty good cup, even by his standards. A bit weak, but it actually had a decent flavor.

Gibbs took another sip—not small enough. It burnt his tongue, causing him to swallow reflexively, and the hot liquid seared down his throat to settle a little too hotly in his stomach. The physical warmth did nothing to thaw the untouchable, cold knot in his gut.

He'd seen relief flood the faces of McGee, Ziva, and Abby when the doctor brought them the news that Tony would be all right. The preliminary examination of the bullet wound found it to be, though serious, not life-threatening. Through-and-through, the doctor had said. No arteries hit. The doctor had been young-looking enough to have just gotten out of residency, but Gibbs' critical stare found a forthright set of eyes which calmly, if wearily, met his own. There wasn't some grim stipulation they were holding back with, waiting to break gently to DiNozzo's next of kin.

No, Tony _was_ going to be fine. Gibbs never would have been able to convince the rest of his team to go catch a few hours of sleep unless they, too, believed the same. He hadn't been able to convince Abby, even so. She'd sat in almost complete silence next to him up until five minutes ago, and had only left then to grab them some fast food. When she got back he _would_ be eating some of it because "Apparently Tony's not the only one who needs a keeper"—that had come complete with a no-nonsense dose of Abby disapproval.

He could tell by the concern that had been radiating off her in all but visible waves that she wouldn't be gone for long. Concern for _him_, of all people, when Tony was the one in the hospital.

Setting his still half-full cup down next to the magazines that littered the table beside him, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. It was supposed to have been a secured crime scene. A routine, tedious morning of examination. How had it turned into a battlefield so quickly?

Sandburg would probably have had a good explanation for all the panic and rage that had crashed over him the moment Tony jerked back as a bullet slammed into him. He'd have said something about it being Gibbs' instincts as a Guide that had made him want to go ballistic. He hadn't gone ballistic, though. Not quite. By the time Gibbs had finished pulling McGee down out of the shooter's view, and his glance around informed him that Ziva was crouched behind a nearby car, he'd expected to find Tony sprawled and bleeding out. He'd been bleeding all right. Bleeding, and he'd just kept on moving, trying to stay upright, even after the following flurry of activity as backup was called in and the rogue marine had been subdued. In the end Gibbs had physically grabbed him and yelled sense into him: "_DiNozzo—Tony! You're. _Shot_."_ Tony had looked down at his fingers, clutching his shoulder where the bullet had hit him, and where blood had been seeping out, the red stark against his dress shirt. When he looked back up he'd blinked slowly once, and Gibbs could see the moment the pain hit him—it was as if in a split second he'd tapped into his body's demands. As if he hadn't even been aware a moment before.

So much for Sandburg's insistence that Gibbs would just know what to do in situations like this. He hadn't felt some magical instinct kick in. If anything, knowing that Tony's senses could go haywire on him had made him feel more uncertain than he could remember feeling in a long time. He'd been plunged into a realm in which he felt entirely inadequate. Yeah, Tony would insist until his dying breath that he trusted Gibbs implicitly. That was kinda the problem. He knew DiNozzo would look at any backing off on Gibbs' part as somehow a sign that he himself had messed up—the kid had an insecure streak a mile wide—but for Tony's own sake Gibbs was beginning to consider doing just that.

After Sandburg and Ellison had left to return home Gibbs had been doing his best to figure out how to do his part as Guide. But how was he supposed to know if he was "getting" it or not? The only model of success he had to go by was Sandburg and Ellison. One thing was for sure, he was never going to relate to Tony in the same caring-and-sharing way Sandburg related to "his" Sentinel. Yeah, that wasn't going to fly, not for either of them.

And that left Tony where, exactly? With a defective Guide who didn't know _how_ to guide? Sandburg seemed to have the same certainty in Gibbs' ability to do this as Tony did. Gibbs wasn't half as sure fate had worked out so conveniently.

But Gibbs had made a commitment to try this thing if Tony would, and he couldn't very well just tell Tony "Sorry it didn't work out" and, "How about you try finding another Guide that'll work out better for you, huh?" Sure, just put an ad in the paper and some Guide out of work was bound to pop up somewhere.

He couldn't help but consider Abby: her compassion, her gregarious personality, her fondness for Tony. Sandburg actually reminded him a little of her. But, even aside from the utter impracticality of their different jobs, Gibbs could also just imagine what she'd have to say if he mentioned abandoning Tony, or trying to shove him off on someone else, like an unwanted pet. That was something even Abby, with her big heart, and Gibbs-can-do-no-wrong mentality, might look upon as unforgivable.

Sitting back and resting his hands on his thighs, he felt the outline of his cell in his pocket. It brought to mind something that Sandburg had said before he left: _"Your friendly Guide information center—that's me, man. Open twenty-four/seven. If it's three in the morning I can't guarantee I'll be giving the soundest counsel, but don't hesitate to call if you've got a question."_

A glance at his watch told him that, far from being three in the morning, it was only approaching a quarter to six, PM. And where, exactly was all this leading? Even with plenty of jibes rising to mind, and part of him incredulous over his own actions, he found himself bringing out his cell and finding the anthropologist's number. He pressed call.

"You've got to be kidding me…" Gibbs muttered to himself—_at_ himself—even as the call was picked up, and Sandburg's voice answered. Far be it from Gibbs to turn coward this late in life. Especially over a phone call. "Sandburg," he barked, and just in case the kid wasn't quite as good as his own people at guessing in one who the succinct voice belonged to, he added generously, "Gibbs."

"Hey, good to hear from you. You're not big on e-mail, are you?"

"This a bad time?"

"A bad time?" Blair repeated blankly.

Gibbs had to smile a little. Sandburg was a good reader of personalities, and it was obvious he'd guessed Gibbs wasn't normally the type to go through the niceties of asking if he'd caught someone at a good time. And he was right, Gibbs wasn't. However, Gibbs might just have taken a no from Blair as an excuse, however thin _and_ cowardly, to hang up and brush things off until "later."

Blair regrouped quickly, but he did sound a little flustered. "Oh, nah, it's not a bad time." He gave a nervous laugh that reminded Gibbs a little of McGee. "Jim just got back from a stakeout he was on, and let's just say our housekeeping differences are having some trouble getting ah…reacquainted." In the pause Gibbs heard some clattering noises and some words that brought back fond memories of his time in the Corp.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow, voice dry: "You sure it's a good time, Sandburg?"

Another transparently nervous laugh. "Yeah, positive. Couldn't have called at a better time. I'll just…step out of the room, give Jim some space." A brief pause as he, presumably, gave his Sentinel some breathing room. "What's up?"

"Tony's been shot."

Blair flipped the switch from cheerful to outraged, much in the same way Gibbs had heard Abby "flip" many times. "_Shot_? Why didn't you say so, man, instead of letting me go on and on? How bad is it?"

"Doctor's already said he's going to be all right."

A heavy exhalation of breath filled the line, and then, "How bad was it? I mean, was he having trouble functioning with the pain?"

"I don't think he noticed he was shot until ten minutes after the fact," Gibbs said simply.

He could hear the sympathy all but rolling off Sandburg in waves. "Man, that sucks. Freaked me out big time the first time that happened to Jim. Shock can only account for so much when you've got a knife sticking out of your shoulder…If Jim's anything to go by, Sentinels do tend to tune out their own bodies completely when there's a threat to 'their' people until they're sure their job is over." With a wince in his voice, he repeated, "That's really freaky to watch."

"Freaky" was an understatement, but Blair's voice said he really did understand exactly how beyond freaky it was.

Gibbs only grunted a, "Yeah." He didn't like to second-guess actions already in the past. But this wasn't your typical situation—and yet it was a situation likely to recur. Especially since he was, supposedly, part of the solution to what had gone wrong. Even after he'd brought Tony back and in-tune with the needs of his own body, he still hadn't been able to get Tony to turn the "dials" down. Not fast enough. As bad as seeing Tony not acknowledging a wound had been, the alternative wasn't pleasant for either of them.

"_DiNozzo—"_

"_YeahBoss?"The two words slurred together even more than usual, as Tony pushed himself up. He gave a sloppy salute, trying to brush off a frowning paramedic who was trying to get a look at the source of the blood saturating his jacket. "M'good, really, don't feel…" Tony stumbled a bit, almost falling, and Gibbs reached out to steady him, and finding himself suddenly bearing most of Tony's weight. Now looking dazed and less certain, Tony looked from Gibbs' face to that of the paramedic, and frowned. _

"_You're shot, Tony," Gibbs said under his breath. "Just take my word for it."_

"_Oh…yeah?" Tony not-whispered, frown deepening. He mumbled, "Well, must've just clipped me, it doesn't really hurt—"_

_Gibbs wasn't clear on exactly what had slipped out in response to that, but he knew whatever it had been he'd peppered it good with some strong language. He was worried, and he didn't know how bad it was, because DiNozzo, for all his apparent incomprehension, was clutching his shoulder as if, even though his mind was choosing not to register feeling, his body knew it was there. Tony'd blinked owlishly at him, and more softly—for Sentinels' ears only—he'd said, "Tony, let it go." Stop jerking those dials down hard enough to break 'em off. Relax. "Trust me." _

_And Tony had. _

The shocked look of pain finally realized, and accompanying strangled gasp, that he'd gotten from his Sentinel when he'd been helped back into awareness—that was definitely going to haunt him for some time to come. Thank God for painkillers and sedatives. The doctor had attributed Tony's initial lack of reaction to the pain as shock. Gibbs knew better, and thinking back now he wondered if he'd done the right thing. It had felt right at the time, but should he have told his Sentinel to let go of his death-grip on the dials? Should he have told him to relax and let the pain come? Even through the doubts, he still felt he'd done what he had to. But how could he be sure?

_His_ Sentinel. Time had been he hadn't thought it possible for that to sound natural, but actually, it didn't sound half so foreign any more. Not that that made _him_ a Guide, not by a long shot.

"What happened?" Blair spoke softly, breaking the extended silence.

A loaded question if ever there was one. But Gibbs wasn't about to gush forth with a tale pathetic insecurities. This wasn't about insecurities. This was about Tony not getting himself killed, or put through needless pain. "I need you to figure out who Tony's real Guide is supposed to be."

"Wait a minute—"

"No," Gibbs interrupted calmly. "I need you to reconsider Abby—or even Ziva, or McGee. You never even gave them proper consideration. I need you to do that now. I'd…appreciate it."

"No, _wait_ a minute. I didn't need to consider them, because it was obvious from the start—"

"—It may have been obvious to _you_ from the start." There was no one else in the waiting room, but Gibbs kept his voice even and discretely low. "But I've never seen anything definitive—no proof—that I'm supposed to be his Guide."

Blair obviously wasn't buying the I-don't-care idea. He sounded frustrated, exasperated, and not afraid at all to let his voice rise a bit. "You don't always need proof to believe something. You work with gut instincts all the time, man, you _know_ what I'm talking about. You can feel when you're right about something, Gibbs, and so can I." Someone else might have been intimidated by the silence, but apparently Sandburg would press on until he heard the click on the other end. "Tony doesn't have a choice in this. He's a Sentinel, and he can't change the fact. He was meant to be one. Just like you were meant to be his Guide. There's just one difference with you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You can turn your back on being a Guide. It's not gonna kill you, like it would probably kill Tony, to try to pretend you're normal."

"You calling me _ab_normal, Sandburg?"

"It's a gift, man, not a curse. I know it kinda seems like more of a curse when your best friend's in pain and you're still learning by trial and error how to help him. But it gets better. We don't have a manual to help us figure things out, but Tony's got guts." Blair chuckled. "Something else he has in common with Jim—probably another Sentinel thing."

"You're saying he's tough enough to survive my learning curve."

"I don't think you're handling things as badly as you think you are." He must have "heard" Gibbs' amusement. "You're gonna have your own methods for helping him deal with things. If a slap upside the head is what gets through to Tony, then that's what gets through—that's what works."

Gibbs gave a grunt, not of agreement or disagreement.

"Look, how would you have treated Tony in this whole situation if he weren't a Sentinel? If he was just Agent DiNozzo, no zone-outs involved?"

Gibbs sighed, but decided to humor him. "I would've shaken some sense into him if he'd tried walking around with a gaping hole in him like that." Which Tony probably would have, gritting his teeth against the pain. Overachiever...

"So, what _did_ you do different?"

Gibbs hesitated.

Blair pounced on that triumphantly. "He's still your agent, too, man. You gotta see that. Your basic relationship doesn't change, you're still his boss. You just have to keep trusting those instincts to keep one of your own safe."

_Instincts_. Keeping one of his own safe: _that_ he could do. He couldn't see _not_ slapping sense into Tony when he tried pulling one of his stupid stunts.

"Agent Gibbs?" It was the nurse calling his name, stepping closer to inform him, "Agent DiNozzo is waking up now—he's been asking for you."

He nodded, rising but not snapping the phone shut just yet. He owed the kid some sort of thanks. An acknowledgment, one Guide to another.

"Gibbs?" Sandburg again, sounding faintly worried.

"Tony's awake. I've got to go."

Something in his voice must have conveyed enough. Blair sounded like he might be smiling. "Yeah, go on, man. Keep us updated, huh?"

"I'm sure you'll hear from Abby."

Smiling faintly, Gibbs shut the cell, slipping it back into his pocket, and following the nurse to see how his Sentinel was doing.

**********ooo**

**Finis**

A/N: I really can't say enough for all the feedback you guys have sent me, but thank you! I'm sorry I didn't get back to many of you on the last chapter—been a bit drugged out and tired from the wisdom teeth removal (probably wouldn't have managed to say anything coherent, anyways). Huh, maybe I should apologize to the people I _did __respond to… =P_

I'm really sorry to see the end of posting this, 'cause I've enjoyed hearing from you all so much. But there are more stories to come. I've updated my profile with a link to the trailer, of sorts, (for this) that I mentioned earlier, along with a few lines outlining the fics I'm working on now, as well as what you can expect as far as posting new stories. I posted a link to a short excerpt from the sequel to this, too. ;)


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